


Written In The Dust: Fingerprints

by gaialux



Series: Written In The Dust [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Praise Kink, Pre-Series, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, Sibling Incest, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl was always willing to follow in his brother's footsteps. It didn't matter if it was hunting, surviving, or roaming Georgia in search of something - anything - more than what they had. The apocalypse doesn't change that. Not at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we've gotta hold on to what we've got

**Author's Note:**

> First book of a planned three. While the incest in later chapters is consensual, there is a lot of internal guilt/some regret toward what occurs.

P R O L O G U E

The sun was sinking low over the horizon. Soon it would be dark out, and they had only begun stepping into the woods. Daryl shifted the crossbow on his shoulder, too heavy, but Merle insisted he'd carried the same weapon even before he turned Daryl's age.

"You gotta learn to look after yourself, little brother," he'd said. "Catch, hunt, defend."

When he'd said 'defend' the word came out with a faraway look Daryl couldn't decipher, but it still sent a shiver up and down his spine.

"It's dark," Daryl did point out. Obvious and stupid, but maybe Merle hadn't thought this through.

"Not for a while yet," Merle said. He briefly turned to look at Daryl, a few paces behind, over his shoulder. "And you gotta learn how to do this in the dark. That's when it's most important."

That made sense to Daryl. He kept walking, readjusting that damn crossbow every few paces as it became lead weight on his shoulder. Merle had two guns slung carelessly over his shoulder and hadn't slowed down one bit.

"Where are we going?" Daryl asked, trying hard to keep the breathlessness from his voice.

"Anywhere you can find something."

 _Damn._ "And what if I can't?" He already knew the answer before it came.

"Then we keep going."

Deeper and deeper into the woods, until even if the sun _had_ already sunk into the ground, the coating of trees made it too hard to tell. Only a few faint streaks of red-yellow light shone through.

"Daryl."

Daryl whipped his head back down to look at Merle. Merle nodded and Daryl's eyes followed the direction to where a deer stood, ears pricked and on high alert.

He yanked his crossbow into position, loaded a bolt, and fired. It missed of course.

"Daryl, you stupid shit!" Merle yelled as the deer bounded further into the woods. "You don't even know how to aim proper yet."

"Then what about all those lessons, huh?" Daryl threw the crossbow to the ground. He was sick of it, anyway. Always digging into his arm, his shoulder, his back.

Merle walked over to him and stared down, looking about ten times taller and a hundred times angrier.

"How do you think I afford that?" Merle said. He picked up the crossbow and sat it on his shoulder. It didn't look like it weighed anything. "And those lessons? Basic Crossbow 101, brother, _and you didn't follow any of it!_ "

"I'm going back," Daryl said. He didn't have to stay here and listen to this shit. He was still good with a gun, hit the target every time, and how was a crossbow more versatile anyway? Waste of time.

Merle's hand gripped around his shirt sleeve and held him steady. "No you ain't. Do you think I'd waste my time dragging your ass out here if this wasn't for your own good?" He shoved the crossbow back into Daryl's arms. "Now try something easier."

It was fruitless to try and get away. Merle was faster, better. And he was right - he wouldn't bring Daryl out here if there wasn't a good reason. Daryl suppressed a sigh.

"Okay," Daryl finally said. "Like what?"

The smile that split over Merle's face made up for the stupidity of this whole ordeal. Merle wordlessly lifted his rifle into position and pointed it toward a tree.

"What do you see?" Merle asked.

It was too dark to see anything apart from the outlines of plants and trees, but Daryl kept watching. Bore his eyes right into that tree until he saw something shift on the bark.

"Yeah?" Merle asked. His voice stayed quiet, lifted only by the soft breeze around them.

"Yeah," Daryl said. As his eyes adjusted further, he could see that it was fluffy and grey. "Squirrel."

Merle lowered his gun an inch and shrugged his shoulder toward the tree and the squirrel. "Well, go on."

"What good's killing a squirrel?" Daryl asked. "One's hardly enough and it's too dark to find more-"

"Shoot it," Merle cut off. "We're not eating 'em. You're learning to shoot 'em."

The squirrel hadn't moved from it's position on the tree. Daryl wanted it to. He waited for a gust of wind to burst through the woods and send everything running. But that didn't happen.

"You've watched me shoot before," Merle said. His voice was still quiet, reassuring. That was odd enough that Daryl couldn't think of anything to say back. "Same thing here."

 _And what if he missed?_ Daryl swallowed and lined the crossbow up, one eye squinted and the other directly on the target. He'd kill this and then...and then what? He didn't know. Merle hadn't told him.

"Come on," Merle said. "Learn how to look after yourself. You gotta do that. For me."

Merle was just looking out for him. Like always.

Daryl took a breath and released the bolt. It scored right through the squirrel's body and was met with hollers of praise from Merle.

 

* * *

 

C H A P T E R  O N E

Merle was in juvie again.

Daryl wasn't sure the exact reason this time, but it was for either drug dealing or busting the teeth of that guy in town.

Daryl actually hoped it was the latter, because he wasn't prepared for some pissed off bikie to come storming up into the mountains and pick his revenge on Daryl. Daryl had seen the blue and black marks on his brother and Merle could fight; Daryl still hadn't learnt everything, still wasn't entirely prepared.

"Your brother's no good," their dad had said the night following the sentencing. Then, almost as an afterthought, added, "And neither are you."

It didn't hurt Daryl nearly as much as he thought it should, and life went on more or less the same despite the gaping hole that should have been filled with Merle and was still healing from the loss of their mom.

When their dad turned harder to booze, Daryl took to stealing ones and twos from the pockets of his discarded jeans and figuring out his own way to survive.

It wasn't like Merle had gone completely; his voice was still in the back of Daryl's mind, reminding him how long food would last in the fridge before spoiling and how to fix the septic tank when it decided to bust itself again. Most of all Merle was there telling him he'd be out soon, so don't worry, don't fret, and - above all else - don't leave.

~//~

"Hey baby brother."

Daryl cradled the phone closer against his ear and didn't even try to stop the smile that pulled hard on both sides of his mouth. "Merle."

"You sound so surprised," Merle said. "You thought I'd get killed?"

"No," Daryl said. Too quick. Rationally he knew Merle could look after himself, but he also knew Merle was a big talker who'd sooner cuss you out than sit by meek.

"It ain't my first rodeo," Merle said. "You coming down to see me this weekend?"

"Dad..." he trailed off. Merle could fill in the gaps. Since Dad hadn't been up the first time Merle was locked in the slammer, Daryl didn't know why his brother thought it would be different this time around.

"I asked if _you_ were coming to see me."

Daryl snorted. "You think they're gonna let some kid in?"

"Prison's for keeping people locked in, not out," Merle said. "Tell 'em your parents sent you to be scared stiff outta getting involved with the wrong crowd."

Daryl could practically _hear_ the air quotation marks around 'wrong crowd'. He and Merle _were_ the people parents tried to keep their own kids from interacting with.

"I'll try," Daryl said. He took a moment and closed his eyes before adding, "But I'm not bringing you any drugs."

"Did I ask for you to?" Merle snapped. "Can't I just wanna see my brother?"

 _I don't know._ "Yeah," Daryl said. "Sorry. I'll try and get there, okay?"

"Good." It was a false happiness Merle was putting on. Daryl knew that, but he'd take it. "You really think I don't miss being there?"

"No," Daryl said. "I mean yeah - I'm sure you miss being here."

"Three more weeks." That time it was real positivity. The counting down of the days. "And we'll finish up your training, okay?"

"Okay."

Just then the screen door slammed shut and Daryl jumped with it. The phone clenched tighter in his hand and Merle was saying something but it sounded far away.

"I gotta go," Daryl said, or at least thought he said. The words didn't really leave his throat or reach his ears.

Merle's voice still came through. It sounded concerned for the first time maybe ever. "Daryl?"

Daryl pressed the phone back into it's holder and stood up, walking further down the hall to where his dad was still tugging off his boots.

"You know what your no-good brother cost me?" his dad asked. He didn't wait for an answer; Daryl doubted he was even expecting one. "Doing fucking drugs all up and down Ashville. Got people riding my ass 'cause you and him can't control your fucking selves."

Daryl didn't think it would help any to remind his dad about the bags of white and pink pills stashed in the main bedroom, replaced even after the whole house went up in flames.

"Daryl!" his dad yelled. "You minding me?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "You want me to get you money?"

The second boot was yanked from his foot and he stood up, walking over to where Daryl had stayed fast against the wall. He was almost taller than Merle, but not quite. The physical differences were appearing more and more each day, and Daryl was sure that, when Merle returned, he'd tower over his father. For both of them.

"And how do you expect to make anything?" his dad asked.

"Hunting," Daryl offered.

"Hunting?" His dad's face screwed up and came down even closer. Daryl could see every line, wrinkle, and blocked pore. "You don't know nothing about hunting."

"Sure I do, Merle-"

A hand came out and slammed against the side of Daryl's face, knocking his head into the wall. He bit down on his to tongue, tasting blood, as his head began to feel heavy and ring.

"You don't know nothing about hunting," his dad repeated, and this time Daryl just nodded.

~//~

Daryl stared hard at the fist-sized hole in the door of his room. There was an almost identical one in Merle's.

_"You gotta learn to look after yourself, little brother."_

That was enough to make up his mind.

~//~

It was colder out in the woods than Daryl had expected for late March. The denim jacket he had on was too small and tattered, second hand from when Merle got it and almost a decade older now. But the shoulders were still thick enough to take the brunt of the crossbow and stop it from digging into his skin. He'd decided to give hunting another go. A few other goes, actually - in the weeks since Merle had been gone, Daryl had made it habit to come out into the woods, just walking and trying to figure things out while he ignored the ache of angry red welts on his back.

This time he'd decided that he would find something - a deer, a squirrel, even a mouse - track it down, and be back in time to catch a ride in order to see Merle that weekend. At least he'd be better able to hunt by the time Merle came home - and he could make a little extra money on the side, help out a bit. Get their dad off their backs.

He steadied himself against a particularly jagged area of rocks and looked out over it. Down below was the rushing of a river and, further east, it offset and began to pool into a lake. He and Merle had camped out there before, on one of the first times he let Daryl actually try shooting with a gun. Eventually they'd just given up and gone fishing, catching nothing but snags and junk. Still, it was better than the alternative had ever been.

Daryl made his way carefully down toward the bank. There were deer prints embedded into the still-moist dirt, but he saw nothing as he shielded his eyes against the still-glaring sun. At least he had more sense than Merle when picking a time to come out here.

The river curved sharply and Daryl went along with it. The tracks came closer together until there had to be a group or four or five, depending on what way he looked at the trodden-over prints. They went up again, into the thickets of trees. Daryl followed. Maybe he'd find enough meat for the next few months.

~//~

He was further into the woods than he expected, judging by lessening sound of the river and darkening of the sky. He'd lost the deer prints a while back, and was now scouring the trees for signs of further life. At least until the toe of his boot caught on the edge of a sharp fall. There was that stomach-dropping, heart-lurching moment and then Daryl was facing dirt.


	2. fill the places i can't reach

C H A P T E R  T W O

 _Tasting_ it as well.

When he stood up, the world started spinning.

"Fuck," Daryl muttered and reached out to steady himself on a nearby tree. He blinked hard once, twice, until the trees came back into view and the sound of birds replaced the ringing in his ears. Breathing hard, the final wave of nausea faded and he spat out granules of dirt stuck on his tongue.

Where the hell had he ended up?

Daryl turned around but every direction showed an identical mass of trees. There wasn't even the faintest sound of running water in the distance to at least tell him how to get back on track. The rises of mountains were above him but, like the trees, they weren't a checkpoint. They were always there. Always surrounding.

On top of everything, Daryl couldn't see the damn crossbow anywhere.

When Daryl tried to take a step, a sharp pain shot up through his ankle and he stumbled back into the tree. Lifting his pant leg, he saw there was no blood at least. He'd worse injuries than that - it didn't even come _close_ to the broke-in-three-places collarbone from last year. Daryl placed his foot back down gingerly and slowly placed more and more pressure on it until he could take a proper step. It still hurt enough to make his teeth grind together and he couldn't walk without a limp, but he'd make do.

Not that he knew what he was making do _of_. Still, Daryl knew it was more worthwhile to go in search of the river again and follow it back home. So that's precisely what he set off to do.

~//~

He couldn’t find the river.

~//~

It was much colder at night. Daryl attempted sleep pressed up against one of the huge pine trees and managed it some - a few hours, maybe, but they felt more like seconds and he would jerk awake with any sound. They were really no different from what he could hear nightly from his bedroom window, but out here everything was that much more _alive_ and could actually touch him without the flimsy protection of a window screen.

But nothing did get him. Daryl didn't even see a sign of life beyond the trees and plants and grasses. It was just him out in the big, wide wilderness and he had no idea how to change that.

Daryl tried to sleep again.

~//~

There were flames everywhere.

Licking against the sides of the house and racing across the grass surrounding it. Kids - friends - around Daryl were speeding off on their new bikes while Daryl couldn’t move. Couldn’t will his legs to get away fast enough or far enough.

_Merle. Mom. Dad._

Those were the order of the words that went through his mind. But even taking a step toward the burning house made his skin feel as though it was burning, scorching him right there in the moment. He could smell and see the wood falling away, the grass growing brown and then black, and he swore he could hear his mother’s screams.

Daryl awoke with a start. He dreamt a lot. This was nothing new. He was still in the woods, hearing the growl of a bobcat far off in the distance. Daryl didn’t think it would be a direct danger if the stayed still and quiet.

He pressed his back up harder against the tree, closed his eyes, and willed everything away. He willed away the fire, the sounds, the fact he was lost in the middle of the fucking woods with no idea how to get out.

It didn’t work.

It never would.

~//~

The next morning, Daryl decided to try logic. The longest he’d been out in these woods before was a little over a week, a couple of years back when Merle took him camping. And, right now, Merle would tell him to follow instinct. That his stomach grumbling meant food was the most important thing right now.

Daryl also had a vague idea of what _was_ edible out here, so at least it was a tangible task to do - and maybe he could find the river again while he was at it. He hadn't gone that far or fallen that much. He had to still be close. Yesterday he just hadn't tried hard enough, that's all it was. On his report card from last semester that was precisely what his teacher said - _doesn't try hard enough._ Daryl would prove her wrong. The ankle was hardly noticeable now; just a constant throb he put in the back of his mind along with everything else that wasn't important right at that moment.

He set off east, following the sun, and it wasn't long before he found a bush of blackberries. There were all right to eat. Daryl remembered that.

"You can have blueberries or blackberries," Merle had told him. "But have anything with milky sap and your stomach will turn itself inside out."

It's a lesson he'd taken to heart and tore off a few dozen berries that at least let his stomach settle enough for Daryl to focus again. The only problem with good focus was that it meant everything in his mind was front and centre again.

Like being lost. Being out in the middle of the woods with only a vague sense of direction thanks to the sun. It had to be near noon, the sun now directly above him. Daryl tried to stick to the trees - heatstroke was the last thing he needed.

 _And what if you can’t get back?_ The voice was from his mind.

 _You too much of a pussy to even find your way around in your own backyard?_ Or maybe it was more advice-giving Merle ready to start being the asshole Daryl always knew he was deep-down inside.

"I can," Daryl muttered. He was secretly glad there was no-one around to hear him.

He wiped at the beads of sweat rolling down his face and swallowed against the tacky feeling in his throat. The pain in his ankle was back, but Daryl clenched his teeth against it. _Get out of the woods, get home, fix everything up then._ His stomach flipped, but he ignored that too.

At least until it wouldn’t let up and he was braced against a tree, retching up what was left in his stomach. So much for Merle’s advice. Daryl sucked in cool air and bile rose up in his throat again. He stayed bent over, spitting, until he was sure everything was gone.

He needed water. He needed to get the fuck out of here. He could die in the woods - he knew that. He’d heard news stories about it. People gone missing, found weeks later or not at all. Dead because they didn’t know their way around.

 _But you_ do _know_ . That little voice from the back of his mind was back. _You’ve spent more time out here than you have at home._

Daryl’s fingertips gripped harder against the tree. _Yeah_ , he thought. Then out loud, because it was important, “Yeah.”

He knew this place. Somewhere in his brain there was a map and a path out. He just needed to focus. _Focus_. To stop being a bitch.

It was going to be okay.

~//~

Daryl was stumbling. He considered it a good sign that he _knew_ he was stumbling. If he were further gone he wouldn’t be able to recognise it, right?

The trees looked further away until he slammed into them, head aching and hands scratched raw. Everything hurt but in a way that made him feel numb more than anything else. When he coughed flame rose in his throat, then dulled to the same throb in his feet.

But when he tripped over a log there was nothing left in the reserves to pull himself back up.

~//~

At first he thought the sounds he was hearing were coming from his dreams. His dad's voice breaking through 'cause Daryl knew he couldn't escape, not even all the way out here.

But the sound was too strong - too _alive_ \- and it didn't disappear when Daryl opened his eyes. A piercing screech Daryl had never heard come from anyone or anything before.

Daryl scrambled back against the hard wood of the tree, felt scratches tear through his shirt and into his skin. The screech sounded again, echoing through the woods, and Daryl could feel his heartbeat in his ears as he slowly made his way through the brush. Dead leaves and twigs shuffled and snapped under his feet and he was _sure_ whatever that thing was would have to hear it.

But nothing else moved.

Daryl figured he had two choices: Go toward the sound or away from it. There was, he supposed, also the third of staying still - but he was awake now, had to get moving anyway. No way was he going to become some animal's dinner by lying still.

Another screech. Closer this time. He tried to work out what it was. Not a bobcat, and definitely not an owl.

He snapped a bigger stick and cringed, waiting. He was pissed at Merle right now - it was his fault Daryl even bothered coming out here. If he could've just kept his ass out drugs and juvy, Daryl wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't be about to fight for his life against some fucking monster.

So he guessed he'd made up his mind after all.

From there, it was just a matter of shutting down every non-essential part of his brain and going forward. Hand to hand combat had always been easier for Daryl, but Merle'd had him focus on guns for the last year. Didn't matter. He didn't have any other options to use anyway. He'd live or he'd die. That was the basis of everything, wasn't it?

Step after step, one foot in front of the other. Ignoring the crushing of foliage and the scream of whatever this _thing_ was.

At least until he saw it.

It looked a dog, but Daryl knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be with the sharp plates arching across its back and the daggers for teeth that were revealed when it opened its mouth to call that same, echoing screech Daryl had heard the first time.

He knew what it was. He’d heard the legends. _Chupacabra_.

Daryl took off. Pushing back tree leaves and getting whacked in the face with branches. He felt the sting of a cut against his cheek but couldn't even afford to reach up and touch the blood. Behind him the inhuman movements of the Chubacapra were closing in. Dragging closer, closer...

Daryl's foot caught in an upturned root and he felt himself fall before he was actually there. Suspended in animation, a slow-motion fall as his body was twisted and, once again, he was looking at this creature.

And then the sound of bubbling water as his body collided with the ground.

 _Bubbling. Water_.

His brain didn't quite get to what that meant as he remained face-to-face with the Chupacabra. It closed in, its sharpened nails reaching out as Daryl tried to find something, anything to defend himself with.

Then, suddenly, it changed.

Daryl couldn't even pin-point where it started. Just that this...thing, went from Chupacabra to Merle Dixon right before Daryl's eyes. All grins and sauntering walk.

"Drink up," it said and pointed to the water behind.

Daryl was always good at following orders.

~//~

Following the river back home took less than half an hour. Daryl had only been just above it the entire time, dehydrating and starving to death because he was too stupid to think straight on his own.

Merle - the Chupacabra, whatever it was - had disappeared the moment Daryl cupped his hands under the water and swallowed down the icy liquid. Merle's laughter somehow rang through the trees for a little longer, giving Daryl comfort he'd never admit to out loud.

He opened the back door silently, fully expecting Dad to be waiting not too far away. Daryl may have lost count of days out in the woods, but it was long enough.

At least it should have been.

Instead Daryl found himself pulling off boots alone and facing more of that isolation as he walked down the hall and into the kitchen. Dad wasn't hunched over the table, waiting like he used to on nights Merle was supposed to be home with the weekly income, cleaning a gun while one eye stayed on Daryl. Daryl downed a glass of lukewarm water and went into the living room.

That was where he saw Dad. Lounging in his lay-z-boy with the grainy TV screen showing men running back and forth against a grey-green field.

Daryl stood there awkwardly. He knew that trying to sneak up to his room won't last for long; avoiding punishment - being a pussy - was worse to his dad than breaking any rules.

"Daryl," his dad said and turned to him. Daryl cringed, waited. "Grab me another beer."

He does, returning to hold it out to his dad at arm's length. He snapped the tab open with an audible hiss and took a long gulp. Daryl was tense, poised, ready to accept what was needed.

"What're you still doing here?" his dad asked. "Let me watch the game."

Daryl went, numb. Feet more than mind taking him to the kitchen where he pulled out near-stale bread and pb&j spread. He made the sandwich, methodical, and when he bit down that was when it dawned on him:

 _He hadn't noticed I was gone_.


	3. pull yourself out of this space

C H A P T E R  T H R E E

Merle was home again.

"Got out early for good behaviour," he announced as he walked through the door and squeezed Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl knew it was a lie. He'd swiped a pocket calendar from the bank and circled the date of Merle's release in deep red. It was two days prior, actually, but Daryl didn't mention either of those things.

"You miss me?" Merle asked, voice low so their dad couldn't hear from the other room. He hadn't even bothered to say hello.

Daryl shrugged and Merle gave a small smile.

"Best I'll get, huh?" It wasn't a question. "I'm fucking starved. Catch anything good while I was in the slammer?"

"No," Daryl said as he followed Merle into the kitchen.

He hadn't been back out in those woods, not once, since what happened. Merle would chew him out for it of course, but it was still better than the alternative.

"What'd you do, then?" Merle asked. He was leaning over into the fridge, pushing past plates of leftovers and a few plastic cartons.

Daryl sat at the table. "Nothing."

Merle looked over. "Nothing? I thought you said you'd keep up with your training."

"I tried."

"What?" Merle asked as he brought out a Tupperware container and set it on the table. He pulled out a chair and did likewise with himself. "You get an arrow through your foot or something?"

Daryl shook his head, then wished he hadn't. A fake wound would be easier to deal with than to truth. And Merle would ask - of course he would.

"So what then?" Bingo.

"Merle..." Daryl started, then had to stare down at his dirty broken nails before he could continue. "What do you know about Chupacabras?"

"Beasts on the woods - eat livestock. You telling me you never heard stories about them 'round the campfire, little brother?"

He had. That was the point. That was how he had _known_.

"I saw one," Daryl said in a rush. He couldn't push the words back in once they were out and, in a way, he was grateful for it. The image of that Chupacabra had been gnawing at his gut for days, and then the part where it morphed into Merle...no, Daryl had to get it out.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Merle asked.

"Out in the woods." Now the words were coming free and fast, and Daryl couldn't stop them. "While I was out trying to hunt. I got lost then one night it _found_ me and--"

Merle slammed the container onto the table and Daryl jumped. He waited for the sound of his dad’s voice, but it didn’t come. “Haven’t you grown outta those fairytales yet?”

This was stupid. Daryl quickly scrambled up from his seat and attempted to leave the room, but Merle was faster. He was at the door before Daryl could shoot through and he grabbed Daryl’s wrist. Hard.

“You need to learn how to do these things,” Merle said, his voice at a harsh whisper. Daryl didn’t miss his eyes flicker to the living room, either. “So go grab the crossbow and meet me outside.”

Daryl nodded and did as he was told. He didn’t think of Chupacabras again. Not for a long while.

~/~

Daryl shoved his pillow over his ears. It was like he was back out in the woods, listening to the Chupacabra screeching and the wild animals chitter. Only it was neither of those sounds - or, really, anything loud. It was muffled and slurred, joined only by the occasional thud that made Daryl’s heartbeat pick up.

The pillow didn't help. If anything it made things worse because he couldn't _hear_ or _know_ exactly what was going on.

“Why’re you doing back here?” was his dad’s voice, drunk enough Daryl was surprised he hadn't passed out yet. “Told you to keep yer no good ass out.”

“And I told you to drop dead,” said Merle. “I guess we both miss out--”

There was a scuffle. A bump and rattle that Daryl thought might be someone getting pushed against a cupboard. He pulled the pillow down harder and squeezed his eyes shut tight. He shouldn’t be like this; shouldn’t be such a pussy. But his body felt too heavy to even try moving. His throat was dry and his eyes stung, but he wasn’t about to admit to that.

He stayed awake for what felt like hours. Listening to more murmured words and sounds he somehow - _somehow_ \- managed to mostly block out the content of.

Then, so suddenly, silence. Daryl’s eyes flew open and his heartbeat picked up again. He always had nightmares that his brother would, one day, be killed at the hands of their dad. Daryl heard footsteps approaching. They sounded more like his dad's. _God, please_ \--

“Daryl.”

A whisper in the dark Daryl could immediately place as Merle’s. He sat up in bed as his door was pushed open and Merle came inside.

“Are you okay?” Daryl asked, just as quiet.

“I’m always fine,” Merle said. He shut the door with a soft _click_ and walked over to sit next to Daryl on the bed, the old mattress dipping a little more. “You wanna come out to the woods?”

Daryl didn't think to ask him why or consider that it was probably freezing out there. The thought of a Chupacabra doesn’t even come to the forefront of his mind. He simply nodded and followed Merle out of his room and down the hall. He also didn't ask where their dad was, but the faint sound that might be snoring filled him in on enough.

“Grab it,” Merle said as they reached the front room, his head gesturing up toward the rifle stowed away there. Daryl did so and, after half a second’s hesitation, decided to bring the crossbow, too. Might as well learn where he can. He slid into his shoes on the way.

The air _was_ freezing as they stepped outside, and there wasn’t even much of a breeze; it was just like ice had been thrown out and remained stagnant. Merle was only wearing a tatty grey t-shirt and frayed jeans, but he didn't seem to notice the cold.

“Come on,” Merle said, voice at a normal volume now. They both knew their dad wouldn’t follow them out here. Not at this time.

They went right into the woods, into the thicket of trees. Daryl didn't even consider the possibility of getting lost this time - he knew Merle could find his way around out here with his eyes closed. It was ingrained in him in a way Daryl could only ever hope for.

It was quiet while they walked. Much quieter than Daryl remembered from his own few nights out here. Merle lit up a cigarette, the flicker of a flame helping guide the way. Daryl remembered when they were kids; when this was a normal weekend for them. It still should be - he still wanted it to be.

“Hey,” Merle said and Daryl realised he’d gone ahead. He looked over his shoulder and saw Merle sitting on a fallen log. He tapped the spot next to him and Daryl went over.

Merle picked up a stick and etched something into the dirt. It was too dark for Daryl to make out what it was, but he thought it was the beginnings of the letter _M_.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Merle said. He dropped the stick to the ground. “Did he hurt you while I was gone?”

“No,” Daryl said. It was a reflex. He didn’t need Merle to worry about him, not when Daryl could see the faint ring of purple already starting on Merle’s cheek.

“You gotta be honest with me,” Merle said.

Daryl swallowed. “I am.”

“All right,” Merle said, soft. He smiled and Daryl realised for the first time how much he’d missed it with Merle gone. But, just as quickly as it came, it was gone again. “When are you going back to school?”

“Monday,” Daryl said. _If I go back_ , he didn't add. He stopped seeing the point of school when he first went into high school.

“I’ll take you to Atlanta next weekend if you want.”

“Why?”

Merle shrugged. “Get out of the house for a bit?”

So Merle didn’t believe him about the beatings. Or maybe...maybe he just wanted to get away. Daryl knew there was a very real chance nothing would happen to him so long as Merle was there to take the brunt force of it. That was always Merle, and Daryl hated himself for letting it happen.

“What was juvie like?” Daryl asked. His question seemed to echo through the trees and, only after returning to his ears, did he get how stupid it was.

“Like Christmas vacation,” Merle said. He scoffed, but not in an unkind way. “It’s prison, Daryl. You do your time and you get out.”

 _Are you staying out?_ Daryl wanted to ask. _Or are you gonna start up your stash again_? But he didn’t ask. He just bit his tongue until he could taste blood and stared out into the forever-dark distance.

“I, uh, was thinking about joining the army,” Merle said.

Daryl’s stomach dropped liked lead to his feet, the cold air coming back to hit him again. He kept his voice steady. “Yeah?”

“Yup.” From the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Merle nod once, solidly. “This guy I met inside was gonna enlist the day he got out.”

“Is _that_ why you wanna go to Atlanta?” Daryl asked. Of course the motives always went back to Merle - Daryl knew there wouldn’t be a recruiting agency in the middle of the fucking mountains.

“That’s one the reasons.” Merle nudged him with his shoulder. “Can’t I also wanna spend some time with my little brother?”

“I guess,” Daryl said. He kicked at the dirt in front of him, possibly scruffing up his boots but they’d already lost most of their polish anyway.

“It’ll be good,” Merle said. Then, almost as an afterthought he added, “For both of us. Promise.”

~/~

They didn’t end up going. Of course they didn’t. Merle didn’t say why and Daryl didn’t ask, but walking past Merle’s bedroom later that night he peaked inside and saw Merle tugging a bandage around his torso, wincing and hissing out in pain as he finished and tucked the bandage into itself.

Daryl took a step back. The floorboard under his feet squeaked and Merle looked up. His face morphed into something, but Daryl couldn’t read it.

“Hey,” Merle said. He looked down at the bandages. “‘m fine.”

That was a lie. They both knew that was a lie.

Daryl’s eyes wandered over to the dresser and to the half-dozen bags filled with white substance. “You dealing?”

“Naw,” Merle said. _More lies_. “Just my personal stash.”

“Right.”

“Hand me that bottle.” Merle pointed to the lone pharmacy pill container sitting amongst the bags of meth. Coughed to hide the pain, but Daryl still caught the beginnings of a groan.

“Oxycodone,” Daryl reads aloud on the label, aided by the faint moonlight floating through the window.

“Yup,” Merle said. “Perfectly legal.”

Merle took the bottle from Daryl and downed five of the pills dry. Daryl leaned back against the wall and kept his eyes on Merle.

“What?” Merle asked, close to breathless now.

Daryl wanted to ask what their dad had done to make Merle so bad. He wanted to ask when it would stop or - more than anything - if Merle had snuck away and signed up for the army without telling Daryl. Only he couldn't. Instead he turned to the door.

“Night,” Daryl said.

Merle nodded. Daryl could see the pain pulling at his face and it hurt him, too. “Night.”

~/~

When Daryl awoke that night, he expected it to be because of more fighting. But it was deathly silence for one, two, three seconds - Daryl counted. Held his breath and counted because sometimes it helped him go back to sleep.

But then he heard the sound of an engine - a motorcycle engine - and Daryl forgot how to both count and breathe. He didn’t even notice he was out of bed until there were floorboards against his bare feet and he was running toward the back door.

He saw the light. Red like blood in the distance and Daryl couldn’t stop it. Wouldn’t have been able to catch up with Merle even if he tried.

Daryl stood out there, in the wind that had been missing those few weeks ago, and his hair fell into his eyes. He swiped it back, stared at the red until he was imagining it.

“Merle, you bastard,” he whispered and the words were stolen away. Ditching Daryl and going into Atlanta by himself, of course. Daryl gave a sigh and made his way back inside, hoping his running hadn’t made his dad wake up.

When he went into the kitchen, though, a flutter of paper on the table caught his eye. He picked it up and read:

_D,_

_I know you won’t believe me, so I won’t try to explain. But I needed to get out of here. You’ll be fine._

_-M._


	4. cut off all of your fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some rather graphic descriptions of physical child abuse.

C H A P T E R  F O U R

So Merle didn’t come back.

To say it was a surprise would be a lie, and to say it wasn’t was more of the same. It floated somewhere between - or maybe above - the two. Something in the back of Daryl’s mind still held on to that slim possibility his brother might change his mind and turn around again.

But six months on and it hadn’t happened. Which meant, more or less, that life went back to a steady of everything Daryl knew, minus the gaping hole torn out by Merle when he rode off into that dark night. It was similar to what he'd felt when mom died, only without the addition of guilt for not feeling  _sad_.

Sometimes - and Daryl knew it was stupid so he kept it firmly to himself - Daryl thought he could still feel the presence of his mom inside the house. And, even more than that, he thought it made sense.

Her body had gone down in flames like the rest of everything, so why wouldn't she still be here? Daryl would walk around the house at night wondering that, fingertips following the walls and feet sliding along the floors. He also wondered what she'd say about their lives less than five years later. Whether or not she'd care about the scuff marks already on the floor, the red welts on Daryl's back, or the fact her other son had up and left without a trace.

 _No,_ Daryl decided, _she wouldn’t._

Just like his dad didn't care about anything except drinking beer and cashing in checks that came from god knows where. Daryl tried his hardest to get a job someone in town, but it was pointless; nobody wanted a barely-sixteen-year-old who couldn’t afford a car to come in to work within a couple of hour's notice.

He went back to hunting. Stuck with the rifle at first but then ran out of bullets, couldn’t find the money for more, and decided the crossbow was more cost-effective. He remembered to pull the bolts out after each kill, clean, and re-use. Merle would be proud of him.

 _Would_ , being the key point here.

Tonight, Daryl was attempting to drag a deer carcass into the garage.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The words made Daryl freeze. He slowly turned to see his father standing by the house. In his hand was a bottle of cheap scotch.

“You…” Daryl stalled. He swallowed, tried again. “Do you want dinner?”

“What did I tell ya about going out in those there woods?” his dad was walking toward Daryl, a slight stagger in his step that seemed to always be there now - whether drunk or near-sober. “Huh? What’d I tell you, Daryl?”

Daryl dropped the deer onto the dewy grass. His hands came away with a smear of blood he was usually able to avoid these days. He was trying to work out whether to run for the woods or the house when his dad was already right there in his face and shoving him against a nearby tree.

He felt the rough bark against his cheek and then, harder, as his nose was slammed up against it. He felt wet against his lip, tasted blood, and there was his nose getting busted. He and Merle had even more in common now.

“Don’t I look after you?” his dad was asking. “Provide for you? Make sure you have enough to eat?”

 _No._ Since Merle had gone they’d been lucky to have a few loaves of bread and ramen noodles to survive on. It was only supplemented when Daryl could sneak into the woods with a copy of  _A Guide To Mountain Plants_ he’d snagged from the library and pick out edible plants. Then he’d gone and caught squirrel, deer - even a turkey once. Where the fuck else did his dad think all this food came from?

“Yeah,” Daryl said, though. He had to say. “‘m sorry. I just thought--”

“Stop fucking thinking,” his dad said. He shoved him again, again, again.

Daryl tasted more blood until that was the only thing in his mouth and he had to spit just to keep from choking. His hand was on Daryl’s neck and his fingers were longer than Daryl thought they could be, reaching all the way around until he wasn’t choking from the blood - he was choking from the pressure.

“Stop it,” Daryl tried, but it came out as a gasp of no-sound. His dad wouldn’t, couldn’t. He would stop, would let Daryl go--

“Why didn’t you follow your brother?” his dad asked right by his ear. His breath was hot and wet, but his voice sounded underwater. “Why didn’t you do something good for the first time in your fucking life?”

 _I wanted to,_ Daryl tried to say but had no air left to do it. _I woulda._

Then, as suddenly as the feel of the tree on his face, Daryl was slamming against dirt and bringing cold air - almost painfully - into his lungs in huge, great gasps.

“Do you know where he is?” his dad was yelling. His voice ten times louder than it had ever be. Daryl tried to roll over and face him, but a foot steadied on his back. “Where the fuck is Merle, huh? Tell me that!”

“I don’t know!” Daryl said. He could catch the sobs in his voice, taste the salt of tears that was close but distinctly different to that of blood. “You think I’d be here if I knew?”

He heard the sound of a branch being snapped and then the wood connecting with his back.

~/~

Daryl was still crying and battling a sick combination of snot and tears on his face - and with the back of his hand, then his shirt - when he managed to drag himself into the house a few hours later. His dad was passed out halfway in the hall and halfway in the living room.

Daryl wanted to kick him a few dozen times. Maybe even grab out a bolt and--

 _No._ He wasn’t like that. Wasn’t anything like that.

Instead he went right for the stairs, biting back more hot tears that stung his eyes with each step; his ribs feeling as though they were shattered into a million pieces, and the steps making those pieces pierce his lungs. The staircase had never seemed longer.

He was finally on the landing and felt just about ready to collapse into a ball and pass out then and there. But he couldn’t. He had to keep going. Into his room where he kept a backpack under the bed, forgotten about over the last few months when he’d only half-assed school. He shoved in a shirt, a jacket, a pair of old jeans. Ten bucks in spare change stashed in a bundle of sheets at the bottom of his closet. Then into Merle’s room where Daryl had hidden a further five dollars. It wasn’t much, but it was better than this.

He stalled at the door again. Merle had cleared most of what he would consider the essentials - those fucking drugs - but the yellow pharmacy bottle of Oxycodone still remained. Daryl pocketed it. It was prescription after all, and he was certain at least a few of his ribs were broken.

Daryl left in the middle of a cold fall night. He had no plans to ever go back.

~/~

Fifteen dollars lasts the equivalent of two days, and Daryl thought he was doing good. He had to go buy himself a blanket because he’d been freezing his balls off once he reached the city - after hitchhiking there with a shifty guy who kept offering to pay for a motel room - and then he stupidly bought himself a burger.

Now his stomach downright ached, which didn't help his still-healing ribs and skin.

“Jesus, kid,” the guy in the truck had also said. “You involved in them cage fights or something?”

“Or something,” Daryl had said and slouched back against the cab, drawing his jacket up higher and attempting to hide his face. When he got out he’d caught his purple-yellow reflection in the side mirror and balked.

It seemed to be improving a little now. His face at least. His body still ached. But nobody noticed him wince in the middle of the night while he stood on a street corner, eyeing the Walmart just down the road.

Daryl had no real moral opposition to theft; he and Merle had done it a dozen or so times in the past, even managing to snag their mom a necklace on one occasion. He’s pretty sure their dad pawned it off for drugs, but her face had lit up on that day and not from the lighter perpetually stuck under her mouth.

His stomach rumbled again, and that’s when he made up his mind. He hiked up his jacket and walked through the automatic doors. A beeline right to the canned food aisle that would be under less security than the confectionery. Picked up two tins of something, so quick he didn’t even get the label, and then kept up the calm pace all the way back through the doors.

He could breathe. It still _hurt_ to breathe, but he could do it on that more metaphorical level. And now he could eat - which was fast becoming the single best thing in his life right about now. Daryl reached into his jacket and pulled out the tins.

He managed to read _spa--_  on one before a hand closed down on his shoulder and Daryl spun around so fast he almost lost his footing on the curb. He was sure it was his father, somehow bothering to track him down, but Daryl looked up and saw a man obviously younger and obviously not his father in dark blue vest.

“Will you come with me?” the man asked.

~/~

“What’s your name?”

Daryl stared hard at the wall.

“You have to tell us, son, or you’ll be in for a lot more trouble than you are right now.”

That wasn’t even possible. If Daryl told the police his name, they’d trace it back to his dad. Nothing that happened to him here could be as bad as the beating he would receive. Daryl kept his eyes on that gray concrete wall and didn’t make a sound.

“You’re leaving us no choice,” the officer said. “You’ll have to be in the youth lockup until you can face the judge.”

Daryl said nothing.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Daryl nodded. That part deserved a response.

~/~

It was a five day wait before Daryl was put before a judge. Shackled up and shoved against a wall which left him, for a single and terrifying moment, remembering his dad and the tree. But then he was being pushed toward an un-barricaded door and out into the near-blinding sunlight of early morning.

“I’m ordering you to tell me your name.”

Daryl looked up. He was at the court now, but hardly remembered getting here. Vaguely he could recall the card ride over.

“If you don’t, you’re going right back inside.”

 _I already said I don’t care._ Only he hadn’t, not out loud, but he was still having an easier time in juvie than with his drunk dad.

“What. Is. Your. Name?”

The judge was glaring at him. His bald head was shining and his face sparkling red. It was hot in here, but Daryl knew at least some of it was his fault. Not that he was trying to piss anyone off; it was just about time he managed some self-preservation.

The judge pounded his gavel against its block and Daryl jumped. “Send our young John Doe right back in.”

~/~

It's a while longer before someone said anything Daryl felt the need to respond to. He’d been moved into a new cell, this time with a room-mate, who’s first words were, “You look like Merle.”

Daryl’s mouth went dry at the name. “Merle who?”

“Merle Dixon,” the guy said. He was stuffing a pillow into its case and hardly looked at Daryl. “Just something about you. Same nose?”

“I'm his cousin,” Daryl mumbled. He brought his hand to his nose and winced as he touched. The swelling and purpling had gone down, but it was still sensitive and hadn’t set right. Before, he and Merle looked entirely different - guess that was different now. Daryl wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

“Guess the crime lifestyle runs in the family,” the guy said. He flopped down on his freshly made bed and grinned up at Daryl. “I’m Jace, by the way. I don’t think anyone’s caught your name.”

“Darren,” Daryl said, because he’d never been any good at lies like these.

“Nice to meet you, Darren,” Jace said. He stuck out his hand. Daryl took it, tentatively, not sure if he managed to hide the surprise on his face. They were in a prison.

Jace laughed. “Take it. I can’t do much without it being a fist.”

Daryl did, giving it a brief shake before drawing back to himself. “How d’you know Merle?”

“Shit,” Jace said. “I think everyone who’s done more than one stint in here knows Merle Dixon. He makes himself memorable pretty quick.”

_Yeah. That sounded like Merle all right._

“When’d you last see him?” Daryl asked. In six - almost seven now - months Merle could have come back. He could even be in the system right now. Daryl didn’t really believe in fate, but maybe…

“About a year ago,” Jace said. Daryl’s chest went hollow. “He was saying something about joining the army. You know if he ever got around to that?”

Daryl shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in almost as long.”

~/~

“You’re his brother, ain’t you?”

The words came later that night after lights out and first check. Daryl was finally starting to get used to the flashlight in his eyes every three hours - but it still woke him up.

“What?” Daryl asked.

“Merle’s,” Jace said. “You’re his brother. You're Daryl.”

“No,” Daryl said. Not loud enough and it got lost somewhere where in the dark. “I’m not,” he added.

“Yeah,” Jace said. Daryl could hear him shuffling on his bed. His voice was louder as he said, “I know you are. Merle used to talk about you, about his ‘sweet baby brother’.” Jace snorted. More rustling of sheets. “We always figured he was talking about some boyfriend back home. Didn’t dare say it, though - your brother’s tough as fucking nails.”

“I’m not his brother,” Daryl insisted again. They knew Merle’s surname - Daryl couldn’t risk it. His body felt tighten and he wanted to run. Only there was nowhere to run to. He was trapped here.

“I don’t care if you are,” Jace said. “But you’re in this place ‘cause you won’t tell them your name, right? That’s fucked up.”

“How do you--?”

“How do I know?” Jace didn’t wait for confirmation. “What else’ve we got to do in here but talk?”

“I’m Darren,” Daryl said. It was so weak he couldn’t blame Jace - or _anyone_ - for not believing him.

“Whatever you say, Daryl,” Jace said. His voice sounded further away again, so Daryl concluded he’d turned to face the wall. “You’d do good to tell people - Merle’s got a reputation here.”

Daryl blinked up into the darkness and said nothing. It didn’t take a genius to know his brother would have an easy time getting known, getting respected - or feared. When Daryl was a young kid he’d envied Merle for that. Now...it scared him sometimes. To think he could never escape from that shadow of his brother. Even away from Merle they’d ended up in the same place. Both on a hard mattress in a prison cell.


	5. some die looking for a hand to hold

C H A P T E R  F I V E 

The routine of juvie wasn’t so different the the routine of home. If anything, it was a little easier. Wake up at 6, breakfast half an hour after, classes, lunch, rec, dinner, bed. Even the guards had taken up calling him Darren - but that was a stupid name, way too close, and he was just waiting for the second someone point two and two together along with Merle Dixon - though he managed, somehow, to assimilate into what may very well be his new life.

If Daryl were smart, he would have realised that nothing ever came that easy to him.

Usually, the rooms were changed up every couple of weeks. Easier than a shakedown when you made the inmates move shit themselves and inspected it all the while. But, for whatever reason, nobody moved Daryl or Jace.

“I think they want you to break,” Jace said while they watched another move. “Not that you haven’t already - _Daryl Dixon_.”

Daryl’s fist clenched. “I’m not.”

“What’s your surname, then?” Jace’s voice stayed at its usual level, even when a guard walked past and seemed to slow his steps.

“Will you shut up?” Daryl said.

“Will your brother _Merle Dixon_ get me if I don’t?”

That was it. Daryl raised his first and collided it with the side of Jace’s face, sending him reeling to the ground. A guard was on Daryl in seconds, forcing Daryl’s hands behind his back and yelling, “Get back! Get back!” to everyone else who had started cheering.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

It had never been in any of Daryl’s plans to get in trouble while here. He'd wanted to stay below the radar. But now he was being walked down the corridors, through a usually locked door, and made to stand in front of another - this one was stark white.

“You make trouble,” the guard said. “This is where you go. 24-hour surveillance until a caseworker makes time for you.”

The door came open with the sound of a loud buzz and Daryl stepped inside. Handcuffs off as he took in the twin bed, the metal toilet, the metal sink, and the single caged light bulb on the ceiling. It looked more like how Daryl had always imagined prison.

The door closed behind him and he was alone in here. All because he was trying to avoid going back. Daryl slowly shuffled toward the bed and sat. The walls were cleaner - whiter - than those in his other room. He could make out a few hairline cracks snaking their way toward the roof, and a particular spot that looked like someone had bashed their head against the wall. Daryl couldn’t understand that - the desire to get away with any means possible. He would have been fine living the next twenty years shivering on the street if it meant he was free.

He curled up on the bed and tried to close his eyes. It was quieter here, to the point where Daryl could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. That was weird and he didn’t like it so much. Daryl focused on the near-silent shuffles coming from outside, the muffled voices that weren’t of shouting or yelling, and drifted off to sleep.

~/~

_Where am I?_

Daryl sat up and ran a hand through his hair, looking around. It came back easily enough: solitary. He leaned back against the wall.

A knock at the door. Daryl’s eyes flew to it. That same buzz from before sounded as it opened up a crack. “May I come in?” A woman’s voice.

Daryl nodded, then realised he wasn’t sure if she could see. “Yeah.”

The door opened further and a lady dressed in red stepped inside. She closed the door behind her with an audible click, and took a few steps toward the bed. Daryl braced himself further. She stopped.

“They tell me you go by Darren?” she said.

Daryl grit his teeth. “That’s my name.”

“I’m Leanne, a social worker here.” She smiled softly. “You’re in here because you won’t tell them us name.”

“My name is Darren.”

She made a noncommittal sound. “And you’re in separation for hitting another boy?”

Daryl shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Would you like to tell me why?”

 _Because he was gonna get me killed._ “I got angry,” Daryl said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you get angry often?”

Oh, fucking great. One punch and he was getting psychoanalysed. Daryl sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe he should pretend to be completely crazy - they'd eventually have to just give up on him, yeah?

“You were found shoplifting.”

Why did she keep listing all these things? Daryl knew what he’d done.

“Where do you live, Darren?”

He opened one eye enough to see her, and smirked. “In here now, I guess.”

“Did you live in Atlanta?”

“For a while.” A couple of days counted, right?

“For how long?”

“A while.” He opened his eyes all the way again. She hadn’t moved from where she stood, only her hands had come together at her waist and she looked almost like a statue. Too perfect and calm in a place full of so much mess. “Why do you even care?”

“You won’t be here forever,” Leanne said. “They might scare you with that, but nothing you’ve done will result in a lengthy sentence. Think of this place as a halfway house.”

“It’s a prison,” Daryl said flatly. “You can dress it up all you want. My brother--”

As soon as the word was out Daryl felt his stomach lurch. _No, no, no_ \- but he couldn’t take back what was already out there.

“Yes?” Leanne said. She stepped forward. “What about your brother?”

Daryl breathed out hard through his nose. It was okay. He hadn’t actually said anything. A lot of people had brothers, right? She knew nothing.

“Nothing about him,” Daryl said. His voice sounded calm enough. “He just said the slammer would suck.”

“Where is your brother?” Leanne asked.

“I’ve got no idea.” And that was the truth - she couldn’t it against him.

“May I sit?” Leanne asked. She’d moved closer; Daryl hadn’t noticed. He paused before nodding and she cleared the rest of the distance between them. “Where were you born?”

“A hospital.” He gave a firm nod at that.

“Darren,” she said. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“The mountains,” he said. He had to close his eyes before saying it, as if not seeing her somehow made it less there. Less permanent. “The fucking mountains. Is that enough?”

“Yes,” she said and Daryl wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. He opened his eyes to see her nodding. “You can. I’m going to book you in for a meeting on Friday, which you will be required to attend.”

“Okay,” Daryl said. There was nothing else he could offer.

“I hope by then you can tell me your name.”

With that, Leanne stood and left. It was maybe ten more minutes when the door opened again and this time it was to a guard who led Daryl back out into the main area of the prison.

“No more funny stuff,” the guard said.

“No, sir,” Daryl said.

“Off you go, then.”

Daryl kind of liked this guard, even if he did treat everyone like they were 5 years younger than was actually true. Or - in Daryl’s case - even more than that. He didn’t look 16.

“Hey, Darren.” Jace came over and slapped Daryl’s back. Then, leaning in closer, he said, “Sorry about before.”

Daryl pulled away from him, tried not to make it too obvious. “It’s fine.”

“Good.” Jace flashed him a smile and slapped his back again. “You wanna play some pool?”

The pool table was surprisingly free, so Daryl shrugged and went over. Maybe he could even learn a little something while locked up.

~/~

Jace had taken up to calling Daryl Darren all day. But, back in their room after lights out, Daryl watched Jace roll over in his bed and say, “Hey, Daryl?”

He bit his tongue against the fake correction. “Yeah?”

“Are the bruises why?”

Daryl felt his face burn, and he wasn’t exactly sure of the reason. “What are you talking about?”

The springs of Jace’s mattress groaned as Daryl watched him get up off the bed and walk the space of their room. He stared down at Daryl, but when Daryl tried to sit up Jace held him steady with a hand.

It took a lot for Daryl to not throw another punch.

“In the shower, I saw them - on your back. Looked like a switch. Was it a switch?”

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” Daryl said. He ripped Jace’s hand away from his shoulder and sat up. Daryl still didn’t trust himself to stand without slugging him.

“Tell them your fucking name,” Jace said, and shoved Daryl’s chest. “Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

That was it. Daryl stood and forced Jace to take a step back. Daryl was shorter than Jace - about the same as the distance between him and Merle - but Daryl knew how to make his face hard. How to make it threatening. And he would feel like shit later for using it, but he also didn’t _take_ shit from anyone else. Daryl was nobody's bitch.

That was part of why it came as such a shock when Jace has leaned over and Daryl felt something wet, warm, and soft on his mouth. His brain took a little extra time for it to register the word _kiss_ , and by that time he was ripping himself away.

“Hey,” Jace said. He reached out and his fingertips slid across Daryl’s face before Daryl was gripping his wrist.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Daryl said. His voice was hoarse.

Jace was fucking smiling. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want it.”

Daryl couldn’t think of any response. He dropped Jace’s hand like it was burning and slumped back to the bed, rolling over and facing the wall. His heart was beating faster than a deer could run and his entire body felt hot.

“It’s okay, Daryl,” Jace said with a yawn. “I’ll hold all your secrets.”

~/~

The next day, Daryl told them his name. He was taken right to the warden who marcheed him back to the judge’s chambers. The same one as last time, his face even redder than before and beads of perspiration sliding down.

“You’ve wasted all our time,” the judge said. Daryl didn’t remind him that he had been caught shoplifting. “I’d be in right of mind to keep you in another few months, teach you not to lie. But there isn’t enough room for all you hoodlums - so I’m releasing you into your father’s care.”

Daryl struggled to remember how to breathe. His ribs felt broken all over again. It wasn’t like he didn’t know this was coming - knew it the moment he asked the guard to go see Warden Kennedy - but the realism of it was a punch to the gut as it dawned on him.

“Until then,” the judge continued. There was glee in his eyes now and Daryl wanted to spit. “You can spend time back where you came from.”

He didn’t mean the mountains.

~/~

Daryl lasted two days at home before running again. This time it was with an extra twenty dollars and a backpack stuffed with food. He would go to Atlanta, to the recruiting agency, and find his brother that way.

His back was still bleeding before he went out the backdoor so he grabbed a towel and some duct tape, and made what he thought was a pretty decent makeshift bandage. It should at least carry him to the highway so he could hitchhike back into the city.

This time a woman picked him up. Bright pink lips smacking down against the same colour of bubblegum. She grinned, introduced herself as Sandy, and asked Daryl his name.

He didn’t lie.

“Daryl!” She exclaimed. “That’s my son’s name. A couple of years younger than you, though - just started high school. Are you still in school?”

“Graduated,” Daryl said and looked out the window, up at the sky.

“Off to college?”

“Don’t know yet.”

About two minutes later and she was back at it again. “What are your plans for Atlanta?”

Daryl was too tired to attempt an argument. Plus maybe - just maybe - if he said it out loud, God might decide to cut him a break. “‘m gonna find my brother.”

~/~

By the time he arrived in Atlanta, it was too late to actually start looking. He made his way to the same park he’d called him for a couple of days before being thrown into juvie. Daryl shook his head.

He tried his hardest not to remember anything about those weeks. Especially Jace’s face when it came to mind and made him feel sick. He hadn’t kissed a boy - would _never_ consider doing that - and the gnawing heat in his stomach that sometimes accompanied the thought made him want to throw up.

Sleep was always welcome, when he managed it.

~/~

The recruitment office came up with shit.

“We’re sorry,” he was told. “We can’t just release that information. Would you like to take a brochure?”

He stepped back outside and walked.

Daryl spent nights in alleys, parks, or even a tree. Anywhere he wouldn’t be chased off or looked at like a freak. Mostly he just tried to keep walking - for hours and hours through the night and day. Merle would be in Georgia. Daryl was certain of that. He couldn’t see his brother crossing the state line and trying somewhere else. Southern Pride aside, Merle knew people here. People who had those little pills Merle loved so much.

Daryl didn’t have that much faith in his brother to give up.

~/~

Daryl stole again. Twice. This time from a smaller store with no security cameras or cops outside. He did feel a little bad for that, but having food in his stomach helped numb the sensation.

He planned to leave Atlanta tomorrow and find his way back into the outskirts of Georgia. Merle knew the woods - way better than he could ever know a city - and it made sense he might end up there.

Daryl made his way along the sidewalk, kicking at a coke can on the way. The sun was starting to set and it was different here in the city. Darker. Once the sun dipped low enough any last rays were stolen by the buildings. But brighter again when the artificial lights switched on.

He’d always known New York was the city that never slept, but Atlanta seemed close.

The can skittered off into the gutter and under a parked car.

“Hey!” Someone far off called. “Quit littering the neighbourhood.”

Daryl ignored them and kept walking. Head down, watching his feet with each step. Until he heard the sound of an engine roaring to life.

He looked up and there, in the distance, a figure on a motorcycle Daryl would know from anywhere.

How this managed to happen was impossible to tell. Daryl didn’t try. He just knew that someone - maybe God, maybe the universe, maybe Merle himself - made this happen. He was supposed to be here.

“Merle,” Daryl breathed, and broke into a run.


	6. can't break the ties that bind

C H A P T E R  S I X

When he saw Merle, the first thing Daryl wanted to say _Where the hell have you been, you piece of shit?_ But instead what came out was a half-strangled, “You left!”

It was like being a little kid all over again. The one hid under the covers with his ears blocked and praying to God to make their dad stop beating on their mom. Then Merle would come into his room and sit there, on the edge of the bed, saying nothing until Daryl drifted off to sleep.

Merle spun around and stared. Daryl couldn’t read his expression, but he picked up the pace.

“You left,” Daryl found himself repeating, quieter this time.

“What are you talking about?” Merle asked. Now his expression seemed close to vacant; he didn’t look relieved to see Daryl, like he missed him, or even surprised. Daryl could have been coming home from school.

“You just up and leaving,” Daryl said. He stopped where he was - about ten feet away - and refused to get closer.

“Where’d you think I went, huh?” Merle started to sound mad. _Good_ , Daryl thought. At least it was something. “Fucking military! Couldn't exactly be going to give you a farewell.”

“Then why aren’t you there?” Daryl might not know a lot - much less about the military - but he doubted they’d let fresh recruits walk around the streets at night with the cheap beer hanging from their breath. He could smell it even from here.

“Dishonourably discharged.” Merle said with a grin. Like it was something to be proud of.

“What’d you do?” Daryl still refused to get too close and knew his eyes were hard. Closing into slits as he watched his brother. The sun was setting even deeper, with enough shadows now to throw Merle into darkness but keep Daryl in low light.

Merle shrugged. “Haven’t told me yet.”

“You don’t know how you fucked up?”

A grin split across Merle's face. “Coulda been the drinking, or the drugs, or that time I snuck a girl in.” Merle laughed at one of those memories. “Not sure what Drill Sergeant hated the most.”

The drugs were what made Daryl’s heart drop. He’d hoped - if anything good could come out of this - it would be his brother quitting those fucking things. But even as Daryl watched, Merle reached into his pocket and downed two white pills.

“So what’s up, baby brother? You come to rescue me?”

Daryl didn’t know what to say to that. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, rolling the bitter taste around in his mouth.

“Since when do you smoke?” Merle asked.

“Since you left.” Daryl didn’t see the point in lying about that. Merle wouldn’t think anything of it, anyway. He blew out a puff of the smoke and watched it float into the darkening sky.

“I asked if you wanted to come,” Merle said, quieter than his usual voice. “I _asked_.”

Daryl lowered his eyes to Merle. “Yeah. But I didn’t think you’d fucking leave anyway without at least telling me.”

“I left you a note.” He sounded pathetic.

“Fuck you, Merle,” Daryl said, and he didn’t think he came across as anything more.

“Run along home, then,” Merle told him. “You wanna hold grudges? It ain’t bothering me.”

That was all it took for Daryl to crumble. He knew it was true. Merle might have protected him at home and made sure he always had enough to eat, but he didn’t really care. Not that he should have to - Daryl was getting close to grown and it was high time he started looking after himself.

Not that it made those words hurt any less.

“I’m not going back,” Daryl said and looked away.

He heard Merle’s footsteps crunching on the rough pavement and a hand touched his shoulder. He had to grit his teeth not to flinch.

“Okay,” Merle said. He didn’t sound so patronising now. He even sounded kind. “Then you come with me.”

It was as good an idea as any.

~/~

Daryl had to keep watch while Merle stood in a park and exchanged little plastic bags with rolls of green. He wasn’t just doing any more - he was dealing. And that obviously had to be more worthwhile than coming home.

Daryl stuck another cigarette in his mouth.

It was like waiting to steal from the supermarket, only that was about _survival_. Merle was here being a selfish ass and probably helping get kids younger than Daryl hooked on crystal meth. It made Daryl sick. He could admit to that. Sick to his fucking stomach.

Transaction over, Merle made his way sauntering back and flashed the wad of cash at Daryl.

“How’s about I spring you a hooker, huh?” Merle grinned.

Daryl shook his head and started walking in the opposite direction. He bunched his ratty jacket up closer against his ears as a gust of wind picked up. It was already fall - where had the time gone?

“Well whadda you want?” Merle asked, coming up behind him. “As my lookout, I think you’re entitled to ten percent.”

“I don’t want your fucking money,” Daryl said. “Did fine without it, didn’t I?”

“Now, now,” Merle said. He swung around in front of Daryl and blocked his path. Daryl stopped and stared up at his brother. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what. What I _do_ know is you’ve got clothes that haven’t fit since you were ten - let alone sixteen - and I’m sure I could feel your ribs if I tried.”

Merle reached out to do just that, but Daryl dodged him.

“See?” Merle didn’t wait for an answer. “So will you at least let me get you a burger? There’s some good places ‘round here.”

How many times had Merle walked circles around Georgia? How long had he even been out of the army?

Daryl didn’t really want to know. He was sure the answer would come back to _A lot of fucking times_ and _A long damn time_. It was better not hearing those things out loud.

“Fine,” Daryl said. “You choose where.”

Merle smiled. “Glad you’re learning to cooperate. C’mon.”

Daryl followed Merle without asking where they were going. It was not like he'd get a clear answer anyway. The further they got out of the city, the more the leaves seemed to pick up and mottle the pavement in front of them. Crunching underfoot and making Daryl think that, maybe, this could have been a life they had. Or at least one they could make now. Not that he’d ever mention it to Merle out loud, but it was a nice thought to keep tucked away in his mind for whenever he needed to bring it back out again.

“You’ll like these,” Merle tossed over his shoulder. Daryl was only a step or two behind, but the distance felt much further. “Tastes better when you don’t have to hunt it down yourself.”

At this point, Daryl had no right to be fussy. They’d spent the past few days travelling from town to town, eating what they found or what Merle swiped. He was better at it than Daryl - no one ever suspected he was walking out of the store with pockets full of candy and salted meat.

“We should go back and get the guns,” Merle had told him one night when they were sitting in a doorway.

Daryl could just see the stars shining in the sky but his eyes had flashed back to Merle at the words. He couldn’t have even tried to keep the waiver from his voice. “No.”

“Aw,” Merle said, tiny grin on his face. “And why not?”

“I told you,” Daryl said, more under control now. “I’m not going back.”

So they hadn’t. Daryl didn’t know exactly how he’d won, only that he had and he was to grip onto that with all his might. He didn’t care if they dumpster dived forever, so long as that house didn’t come into view again. It _did_ leave Daryl a little surprised that Merle wanted to shout him a burger, but hey - he wasn’t about to complain about free, quality food.

Merle held the door open for them as they go inside - “Ladies first, Darleena”, Daryl half-heartedly punching at him in response - and let Daryl go and sit at a booth while he ordered. Daryl bunched himself into the corner and rested his head on the frosted window. The street lights were just beginning to come on and traffic was picking up.

“You writin’ poetry?”

Daryl’s elbow fell away from the window but he caught himself just in time to stop his forehead from colliding with the glass. He turned to Merle. “What?”

“Staring off all misty eyed into that there space. Real faggoty artist take on things.” Merle slid into the booth opposite Daryl. In his hand was a bright blue drink.

“Shut up,” Daryl said.

“You can tell me if you are,” Merle said. “I ain’t about to judge.”

“Shut up,” Daryl repeated, then pointed at the drink. “What’s that?”

“They call it an Adios Motherfucker.” He pushed it toward Daryl. “Bought it for you, seeing’s as I wasn’t around for your sixteenth.”

Daryl wasn’t sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes. “So you buy me a girl’s drink instead of a beer?”

“You don’t want it?”

Daryl didn't answer Merle shrugged and downed the drink in two swallows, pulling out the bright little umbrella and popping it between his teeth.

“So what’d you do while I was out serving the country?” Merle asked.

The waitress came over and served them their burgers, saving Daryl from having to answer. What was he supposed to say to that, anyway? _Let Dad beat me, spent some time in juvie - gettin’ to be more like you every single day._

“Thanks, darlin’,” Merle said with a wink and Daryl kicked him under the table. He glared at Daryl and the waitress hurried away. “What the hell was that for?”

“Quit being a jerk,” Daryl said.

“You’re the one who kicked me!”

Eyes were on them and Daryl turned away, first looking at the window then down at his burger when Merle started smirking at him. Nothing escaped him. Daryl had learnt that years ago. He picked up the burger and bit into the taste of tangy ketchup and crunchy lettuce.

“Good, hey?” Merle said. The smirk had fallen away.

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed. He moved the basket of fries over the Merle. The warmth of the restaurant helped and his seized-up muscles finally felt as though they were relaxing. He took another bite. “How many different towns you visited?”

Merle shrugged and leaned back onto the cushioned booth, throwing one arm up behind him. “A few. Don’t like staying in one place too long, y’know?”

Until recently, Daryl hadn’t. He had honestly thought that Merle was fine in their tiny Buttfuck Nowhere town, but now Daryl spent some time thinking about it, he realised how stupid that sounded. Nobody could be happy there.

“We should head back to the city,” Merle continued. “By tomorrow. Stock up.”

“On drugs you mean,” Daryl mumbled around a mouthful of burger. Half of him hoped Merle wouldn’t hear.

Merle’s eyes narrowed. “I’m buying you that food, ain’t I? Not like I’m letting your starve or freeze out there.” He shoved another few fries into his mouth. “Ungrateful shit.”

“But you,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be better if you stopped?”

“Better for who?” Merle snapped. Daryl knew Merle would get mad. “I ain’t hurting you or anyone else. Been letting you tag along, brother - I didn’t ask you to stay.”

That was true. Daryl dropped the remaining quarter of his burger onto his plate and rolled around the the mouthful of meat, salad, and bread left. It took effort to swallow it down over the lump rising in his throat, and he had some small regret about not taking Merle up on that drink. Shouldn’t the waitress have brought over water? Anything else to focus on so he didn’t have to look at the flames of anger flashing in his brother’s eyes.

As if to prove his stubborn, asshole point Merle reached into his pocket and pulled out pills. One by one, five of them were placed under his tongue and Daryl watched the bop of Merle's adam’s apple as they went down. Daryl trailed his gaze back up to Merle’s face.

“You ready to go?” Merled asked. He still hadn’t calmed and his voice was razor-sharp.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, knowing it was the only answer worth giving.

Merle held the door open for him again, but this time without the quip and he let go as soon as Daryl’s feet were outside. He made Daryl walk ahead, breath all but looming behind. It picked up within a few steps and Daryl knew it was a result of the drugs beginning to work. Merle very rarely scared Daryl - but tonight was shaping up to be an exception.

“You know what?” Merle was saying behind him. “I don’t even get why you give a shit.”

Because Daryl had seen what it could do. Had watched their mom go up in flames and their dad turn into the most hate-filled human being on the planet. He wasn’t about to lose Merle too.

Daryl spun around. “Because we gotta stop being fuck-ups! You an’ me. We got away from there. Why don’t you wanna stay away?”

Merle came right up to him, standing almost nose-to-nose when Daryl looking up to squarely catch his brother’s gaze. “Look around, Daryl. You see Dad? You see the fucking house? We are away!”

“You know what I mean,” Daryl muttered and looked down again.

The next thing he knew his head was being smacked backwards and his mouth was filled with the metallic taste he could only place as blood. Daryl’s eyes flew back up to Merle who was clenching and unclenching his fist, staring down at it like he really couldn't believe what he'd done.

Daryl couldn’t breathe.

"You never...not you!" Daryl spit on the ground, a mixture of saliva and blood bubbling on the cement. There was a dull ache spreading all through his jaw and up to his skull. A bitch of a headache was waiting there to bloom, but Daryl just couldn't get over the shock of his brother hitting him. That was what their dad had done - their mom. But never Merle. _Never_.

"I'm sorry," Merle said right away, sounding shocked.

But Daryl wouldn't - couldn't - just give in and accept that. Merle reached out but Daryl jumped back.

"Daryl..." Merle said. His eyebrows knotted together and his eyes grew soft. But Daryl _knew_ his brother was also a master manipulator. This could all just be an act. He'd grown up with their dad, after all, and learnt so much from him. Why not hitting, too? "C'mon. Please."

"No," Daryl said. He took more step backwards and did find something in him to be grateful when Merle didn't follow.

Another step and he collided - hard - with a brick wall. His tattered shirt did nothing to protect against the blow and he figured a bruise would be rising up on his shoulder blade any day now.

"Daryl," Merle said, quietly but firmly. Daryl didn't move as Merle stepped closer. "You really think I'd ever wanna do anything to hurt you?"

 _No_ , but then Daryl raised his hand to his lip and pulled back with the tacky feel of blood stuck to the tips of his fingers.

"Let me," Merle said as he reached out, and Daryl did.

He let Merle touch his mouth and wipe away the steadily streaming blood. His other hand settled on Daryl’s shoulder, and this time Daryl didn’t shy away. He was too focused on Merle’s breath feeling hyper-sensitive on his stinging lip and the way Merle’s thumb made it hurt just a little less - outside and inside.

“So tell me, baby brother,” Merle said, his thumb still settling there but not moving any more. “Did you stay at the house the whole time I was gone?”

Daryl shook his head and felt a burn in the back of his eyes. “Juvie,” he mouthed.

Merle seemed to get it without any further followup needed. “Better than home, huh?”

Daryl nodded.

What happened next wasn’t something Daryl ever expected, but he’d have to admit it also wasn’t wholly a surprise. And Daryl would also be lying if he said he hadn’t sometimes thought of it, late on night, struggling to sleep and hearing Merle just across the hall from him. Sometimes it actually _hurt_ to think--

Merle’s lips were rough and hard when they replaced his thumb on Merle’s mouth. Incessant, too, his tongue sliding along the seam. Daryl opened with a gasp and let Merle lead the way, his hand tugging at Daryl’s jaw and his body pressing Daryl harder up against the wall. One warm hand slid under Daryl’s shirt and it was _so_ _much_ he had to pull away.

“It’s okay,” Merle told him. He was stroking over Daryl’s chin, his lips, his cheeks. All the anger from his eyes gone and replaced with something Daryl couldn’t quite describe but liked anyway. “Anyone ever do this to you before?”

Daryl shook his head, too quick, but Merle didn’t ask. His hand rubbed circles on Daryl’s stomach and up to his chest, spreading heat all through. He was snatched back to reality by the sound of footsteps approaching and pushed Merle away quickly.

Merle didn’t miss a beat. He grabbed Daryl’s wrist and tugged him out past the shops until they were stepping on dirt and any signs of civilisation were back in the distance. Merle gripped Daryl’s tighter and Daryl’s whole body clenched in response. His mind hadn’t entirely caught up to everything and his jaw still ached from the punch - _Merle’s_ punch. Merle had _punched_ him, and Daryl didn’t know how he felt about that or if he’d forgiven his brother yet - but Merle was there and solid and it was all Daryl had really wanted these past few months.

They stumbled and Daryl’s foot caught on a branch, sending him sprawling backwards and Merle half-catching him as they collided with the ground.

“I got you baby brother,” Merle said, and maybe it was Daryl’s imagination, but he thought the ‘brother’ part was a little quieter than the rest. He didn’t get a chance to think about that too deeply before Merle was kissing him again and Daryl went with it because it felt better than thinking about anything else.

He let Merle wordlessly tug down his pants and then he was guiding Daryl onto his stomach. Daryl threw a look over his shoulder and saw Merle’s blown-wide eyes. He didn’t know if it was from meth or...something else. Daryl looked back onto the ground. Merle spat and Daryl felt fingers press into him. He tried to breathe, to relax, and to help by pushing back.

Merle entered him and it hurt. Like he was stretched too wide and had nothing left to give. He focused on the trees in front of him, on the woods. At least Merle was here this time; he couldn't get lost.

"Darleena," Merle was saying above him. Like it somehow made everything easier while Daryl's own mind was a continuous stream of _Merle, Merle, Merle._

Daryl gripped into the dried bark and dirt underneath his fingers, scratching them up until he saw blood and then beyond. Merle worked a hand between their bodies and gripped Daryl's dick. A few sharp tugs to get him hard again, and a few more interspersed with Merle's own thrusts to get Daryl falling over the edge. Just like getting lost - only he had someone following him down this time.

"Daryl," Merle said, not long after he had pulled out and rolled away. A wind had picked up and Daryl shivered with it as he blindly reached out to find his pants.

"Yeah?" Daryl said, his voice croaky. His hand connected with denim and he shoved his jeans back on with shaking fingers and blurred eyes.

"I didn't mean to punch you," Merle said. "You gotta believe me on that one."

Things got even blurrier and Daryl had to clear his throat before replying. "I know," he said. "It doesn't matter."

Merle's hand settled on Daryl's shoulder and he jolted away.

"Daryl..."

"Come on," Daryl said, getting to his feet. "You said you wanted to be in the city by morning."


	7. cut your anchor loose

They went from outskirts to town to city and back again, a zig-zagged circle all across Georgia whenever Merle got the itch to roam. Daryl went with him. Everywhere. Except for that time when Merle shot up and snorted in what should have been a lethal mixture of meth and heroin, and the bender lasted a week while Daryl shivered in an alleyway in Milton.

Merle found his way back, eventually, all busted up and leaking blood from his lip.

“You always leave,” Daryl told him immediately and didn’t even want the words back this time.

“And I always come back,” Merle said. He cupped Daryl’s chin and brought him in close until Daryl could smell the blood and taste the flecks already dropping to his lips. “Can’t deny that, can ya?”

Daryl shook his hard and Merle kissed him deep and short. That was the way it went. Time after time after time.

By the time they were moving back up to the higher ground - the mountains - it didn’t even click to Daryl how close they were.

Until it was too late.

“No,” Daryl said when Merle stopped his bike and Daryl could recognise the trees. How they were recognisable he didn’t know, but a shiver went all through every part of him until he was freezing cold from the inside out.

“Think of it as a pit-stop,” Merle said, stepping away and grabbing his knapsack from the seat. He looked perfectly calm even though they were no more than two miles from where their father could be.

“For what?” Daryl felt himself shiver again.

“A couple of things I left behind.” He spit onto the ground. “Money, guns, that crossbow you shoulda brung.”

_Because that would have been easy to get away with in juvie. Wouldn’t have been taken and destroyed at all._

“I’m not going,” Daryl said. He clenched his fists and didn’t look Merle in the eye. “You can’t make me.”

“Nope,” Merle said. “You’re right - I can’t. So you just stay here and mind my bike.”

“I’m not staying here, either.” Daryl looked down at the ground and kicked at a patch of dirt. It was too dark to see any dust rising up but he felt it tickle against his nose.

“Then what?” Merle asked. Cross-armed and raised-brows. Treating Daryl like he was a little kid who didn’t want to go to school no more. “You stay out here and let the wolves eat you?” A wicked smile spread across his face. “Or a Chupacabra?”

Daryl could have punched him then, but he kept his fists firmly by his sides. He could still remember Merle punch him those few months ago - a sympathy ache spreading through his jaw and making his chest clench suddenly.

Merle gave a harsh laugh that reverted through the woods. “So you really wanna take that chance?”

“I’m not going,” Daryl repeated. He pushed away the memory of the Chupacabra.

“Suit yourself,” Merle said. He turned away. “I ain’t burying your bones when you become puppy chow.”

Merle didn’t look back again. Daryl watched him go right up until he disappeared behind a clump of trees and then continued his gaze to a little beyond. The wind picked up almost immediately and Daryl stopped shivering; he was even too cold for that now. Everything felt either numb or sore; piercing through him like ice-picks with no respite.

He wasn’t going to stay here - he hadn’t lied to Merle. Daryl got back on the motorbike and kicked it into gear, intending to go back out onto the highway, but instead he found himself circling wide back beyond the property and out into the thicket of woods. He stopped when they became too dense.

 _Turn around_ , that solid voice of reasoning in his head breaking through even after he’d ignored it for so long. It was the same voice that always screeched at him to _stop, stop, stop_ whenever Merle when touch his ass or say to suck his dick. Daryl was unsure if he was supposed to listen to or ignore it any more.

He stopped the bike and lowered his head to the handlebars. The sounds were quieter than he expected them to be, but at least none of them sounded like that fucking _Chupacabra_.

Daryl still believed it had been real. No matter what Merle tried to say against it. There a lot of things up in these mountains that couldn’t always be explained, and the best course of action was to just not try. Daryl believed the truth. He was more wary out in the woods now.

He peaked out between his arm and hair, toward the direction he knew the house to be in. He didn’t know what he’d do if he heard something - if he was supposed to help Merle or run or what. They could steal everything they wanted, so why the hell did Merle care so much about what was still inside?

Anxious seconds passed as the sky grew even darker. Daryl heard nothing. Even the woods remained near-dead.

There was the sound of a branch snapping and Daryl’s face shot up, eyes narrowing in on the source. He swallowed over the thick lump rising in his throat and his fingers toyed with the accelerator. If it was his dad, he was going - Daryl didn’t owe Merle nothing here.

An arm that Daryl swore was his dad’s extended from the brush. Daryl couldn’t breathe. _Shouldn’t be so afraid - can leave if I wanna_. But then the rest of the body emerged in a stain-coated wifebeater and a crossbow slung over his shoulder.

“See!” Merle called. Too loud as a flock of birds took off into the air. “Everything’s fine!”

“Be quiet,” Daryl said, considerably less loud and it was taken away with the slight wind.

Merle made his way closer. “Old man’s passed out cold. Get off the bike.”

Daryl stalled before listening and pushing out the kickstand on the motorbike. Merle gave a short nod and handed the crossbow to him.

“Couldn't get any guns,” Merle said. “We’ll pick some up next town over.”

“For what?” Daryl asked. He knew the answer, but he wanted to be prepared by hearing it out loud.

“Food,” Merle said. “Defence.” _There it was._ “The things we always need guns for.”

“Crossbow’ll do,” Daryl said, positioning it over his shoulder. “Can we go now?”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Merle said with a shake of his head and a smirk on his lips. “You too much of a bitch to help me out inside, we’re gonna take a little camping trip right here.”

“No, we’re--” Daryl attempted to move but Merle cut him off with a hand to the jaw, holding him steady. Daryl was forced to stare into blue eyes that were one of the few things they had in common.

“Staying here,” Merle finished for him. He squeezed harder until Daryl’s jaw made an unstable crunching sound. Then Merle brought him forward for a kiss. Daryl didn’t want to respond, but he found himself falling into what his brother wanted - and what he wanted, too. He couldn’t deny that.

Merle’s grip brought him to the ground, still-damp leaves and dirt sticking to his knees. Merle took the crossbow and placed it by the bike, at least one hand managing to not leave Daryl’s face the entire while. It was only then that Daryl noticed the other things his brother was holding: the poncho, the vest - the very few items that had been saved over the years. Merle left them on top of the crossbow and went back to focusing on Daryl’s mouth.

Merle kissed rough and dirty when he got into it - not that Daryl had any experience (Jace withstanding, but Daryl’s forcing that out of his mind forever). He guided Daryl with his tongue and mouth and teeth until Daryl was hard and rocking against his brother’s hip for release.

So far sex had consisted of Merle getting Daryl worked up before working him open and getting his dick in. It didn’t hurt any more, but Daryl’s stomach still churned after. Though it was nothing compared to how it felt when he watched Merle chat up a chick and stick his hand up her skirt - that burning, bitter, deep-seated pain that Daryl couldn’t understand even if he tried.

“Get down, baby brother,” Merle grit out between touches of lips.

Daryl did and went to turn on his knees, but Merle grabbed his wrist and kept him facing.

“On your back,” Merle said.

Merle was gonna ask Daryl to get his dick on his mouth. Daryl just knew it. At least when that happened he was usually on his knees or it was Merle on his back. But, no, this time Daryl would have to figure out a new way to breathe. He reached toward Merle’s crotch but Merle stopped him.

“Not right now,” Merle said. His breath felt softer, smelt cleaner, than usual. Daryl arched up into it without even thinking. “You’re becoming just like a fucking puppet.”

It didn’t sound mean. It actually sounded...nice. Almost like a compliment. And Daryl kind of liked the idea; liked that Merle could make things work for both of them.

He dropped his hands to the ground and watched as Merle tugged his pants and underwear to his knees.

“You ever even touch yourself?” Merle asked, his hand agonisingly close to Daryl’s dick but refusing to touch.

Daryl threw his head back in frustration. He didn’t want to answer, to see Merle’s look of either amusement or pity when he said _no_ outloud. Even if he followed it with an explanation of _not safe_ or _how the fuck am I supposed to know what to do?_.

“S’alright,” Merle said softly. “You wan’ me to?”

“What the fuck do you think?” Daryl was going for sarcasm but instead it came out closer to a whine and he bit down on his tongue.

Merle’s hand finally enclosed around Daryl’s dick and Daryl’s eyes closed. He focused on the sensations, on Merle’s breathing, on figuring out just how he had avoided finding this feeling for so many years.

“Yeah,” Merle was saying. “Just like that.”

“‘m not doing anything,” Daryl murmured. He didn’t care about the whine any more.

“Yeah you are,” Merle said. Daryl opened his eyes a little and his brother was sporting a type of smile Daryl had never seen before.

Merle said, “Lettin’ me touch you.”

“Want you to--" Daryl cut off and arched up as Merle twisted his wrist.

Merle gave something that wasn't quite a smile, wasn't quite a smirk and slowly lowered his mouth over Daryl's dick.

Daryl cried out at the sensation and shoved a hand into his mouth to stop it. Merle grabbed his wrist and yanked it away.

"Wanna hear you," Merle said, pulling his mouth away with a wet sound. "Ain't nobody else here but us."

"Just over--" Daryl gestured toward the house and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't think about that.

"Nothing there, baby brother," Merle said. He was back to stroking Daryl's dick with his hand. "Now you wan' me to do this?"

Daryl opened his eyes again, even with the tears stinging in the corners. It was stupid - Merle wasn't scared. He wasn't even thinking about their dad coming out here, finding what what they were doing--

"Yes," Daryl said softly.

"Yes what?" Merle held the base of Daryl's dick too lightly for any sensation to travel through.

Daryl's voice rose. "Yes, touch me you fucking bastard!"

"Good boy."

Merle dropped his mouth back down and took Daryl the remainder of the way in. Daryl's eyes closed again and his hands found their way into the dried brush. It didn't take Merle very long at all the tear the orgasm from Daryl and then he was liking back grinning like he'd just scored with a Playboy model.

"Good?" Merle asked.

Daryl said nothing. He couldn't catch hold of his breath and, at first, he figured that was because everything in him had just exited through his dick. But then he couldn't stop staring back through the woods, at where he figured the house would be, and their dad could be coming any second to do it all again...

Daryl choked back on the sob caught in his mouth and Merle went from proud to confused in all of ten seconds. He sat up and his hand went back to Daryl's chest. Everything was too tight. _Couldn't breathe._

“Hey, hey - Daryl.” Merle was talking and Daryl could _hear_ but he couldn’t _connect_. “Look at me, okay?”

He looked. At Merle instead of the woods, the trees, all those memories he had promised himself he would not go back to. He twisted his hand into Merle’s shirt and Merle helped pull him up. Daryl all but collapsed against Merle’s chest and only then noticed the tears tracking down the dirty-white cotton.

“He’s not here, Daryl,” Merle said softly. It was a strange moment that Daryl’s mind tapped into and _held_. “He wasn’t even in the house - I just said that to fuck with you. House looks freaking deserted, he could be dead.”

“Or he could be out here.” Daryl coughed and breathed back the collection of tears and snot building up.

“We’ve got the crossbow,” Merle said. “I won’t let anything happen to ya.”

Daryl pulled away from Merle, cheeks suddenly feeling hot. Merle was still watching him but didn’t reach out to bring him back. Daryl breathed, looked around, and tried to focus on how it really was okay. He scrambled to his feet.

“Can we go?” Daryl asked, voice thick.

“Sure,” Merle said, and slowly stood. He leant over and picked up the bundle of items, eyes never once leaving Daryl’s. “Here,” he said and held out what Daryl recognised to be the poncho Merle had swiped from a market a few years back. “You look cold.”

“No,” Daryl said, but the shiver that ran through his body betrayed him.

“I got too much shit to carry,” Merle insisted. “Take it.”

Daryl did. Sliding it over his body and feeling instantly warmer. “Now, let’s go. Please.”

Merle nodded once and got on the bike, revving it into gear. Daryl got on behind him, this time wrapping one arm around his brother’s waist.

He didn’t know where they were going next, but he knew it had to be somewhere better than here.


	8. like to reach out my hand

C H A P T E R  E I G H T

They stayed in the woods. Not the ones around home - of course not. Daryl wouldn’t let that happen. Instead it was back toward Atlanta, sticking to the isolated roads and hidden pathways Merle knew. Daryl didn’t ask how.

“I got a couple of buddies who can help us out,” Merle said after they’d stopped one night. Dark out with a small fire guiding the way to an even smaller river. “Of course, you’d be compromising that little bit’a morality you’re holding onto.”

“What morality?” Daryl muttered. Getting fucked by your brother didn’t give you a whole lot of morality to cling to, though Daryl couldn’t pinpoint any Bible verse that said so.

Merle squatted in front of him. “They’re drug dealers, Daryl.” He smirked. “All this travelling and you’re still as naive as the day you came outta her cunt.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Daryl said, but there was no fight in his voice. He was too tired to really care and, besides, it wasn’t like he could even picture their mother’s face in his mind anymore. It was too long since he’d last seen her.

“I’ll talk about her as I see fit,” Merle said. He returned to a standing position, back straight and height imposing. “You’re not the one who grew up with her. You hardly knew her, little brother.”

Daryl kept quiet. It wasn’t as though Merle was wrong.

“So you in?”

Daryl nodded and Merle smiled.

“Good,” Merle said. “Knew you had it in ya.”

~//~

They made their way toward Merle’s supposed safe group via the woods.

In some ways, it was probably easier than the roads - they grew up here more than elsewhere. It might take days but Merle knew what depressions to sleep in and caught them food; gutting deer and collecting mushrooms and just generally keeping them alive.

Even if Merle coulc be a son of a bitch, he had skills that had been trained and honed over the years. And he cared about Daryl - a whole lot. Daryl would never let himself forget that.

~//~

A twig snapped.

Merle heard it first. His hand shot out in front of Daryl and stopped Daryl from taking so much as half a step further. Another snap. Daryl heard that one clearly and his heart froze.

It didn’t sound like a deer or a bird or even a bear.

 _Human_ , his brain supplied even though Daryl didn’t want to listen, _It sounded like a human footstep._

Daryl looked at Merle. Merle raised a finger to his lips. _Shh_. Daryl could hear the sound without Merle’s lips opening an inch.

Merle stepped forward and Daryl watched. If he could, he’d raise his hands behind his back and pull out his crossbow. But Merle shook his head. Merle knew what Daryl planned to do before his fingers even twitched.

So Daryl stayed and allowed his brother to move closer toward the thicket of trees. He could still hear the footsteps - not Merle’s, no, these were too different - and Daryl’s body was taut. A thick weave of fibers roped together, ready to snap and attack the moment such a need arose. _Merle_ , Daryl wanted to call, _Let’s just leave_.

But he didn’t.

Another snap. Another step. Daryl spotted something - _someone_ \- moving through the trees. A second later and Merle had spun around to face him.

“Run.”

Daryl listened.


	9. let my fingers do the walking

C H A P T E R  N I N E

They were back in the city. Daryl couldn’t breathe. They’d been stop-start running from the woods all the way back into the city. His lungs were fire and his feet were blood. Nothing left. _What was that? What was that? What was that?_

He tried to form those words to Merle, but it was impossible. Merle looked in the same state but his eyes were also huge and bloodshot. If Daryl didn’t know differently, he’d think Merle had been blazing up again.

“They...they weren’t alive,” Merle said. It was more a slur of words and Daryl grasped to hear, to understand.

“What?” he managed to gasp out.

“Dead fucking bodies. Everywhere.” Merle was rambling. Merle wasn’t looking at Daryl. Merle was pacing. “Chunks...meat. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck _fuck_.”

Daryl’s stomach turned. He had to hold his breath to keep from heaving. It wasn’t really like he could even understand Merle’s ramblings, but the sheer terror was enough to set Daryl on the furthest edge possible.

“Merle,” Daryl said without even being aware of his mouth moving. “What are you talking about? What--”

Merle grabbed Daryl’s shoulder. Hard. His fingertips digging into the muscle and grinding on what felt like bone. Weirdly, it didn’t hurt. It just made Daryl swallow and connect back with reality. His feet on asphalt road and the smell of the woods still in his nose.

Blood. He also taste blood.

“They were fucking eating people,” Merle said. He didn’t sound less terrified, but his words somehow made a lot more sense this time around. “You could _see_ the blood on their mouths.”

Daryl couldn’t think of anything to say.

“My bike... _fuck_!” Merle’s hands went to the back of his head. Yanking at what hair remained from his skin-tight buzzcut.

“You’re not--” Daryl couldn’t even get the words out before Merle as gripping his shoulder. Hard.

“Stay. Here. Don’t fucking move, you hear me?”

“You can’t--”

“ _Daryl!_ ”

Daryl shut up.

“Now I’m gonna go back there and get it. And you’re gonna stay right here. You got it?”

“Merle--”

“You stay right fucking here, Daryl!”

So Daryl did. He saw how wide and bloodshot Merle’s eyes were, how much his breathing sounded like it was tinged by hyperventilation, how his words were strangled and shrill -- and he stayed.

Merle didn’t return for three days.

~/~

Daryl had been left like this before. Abandoned by his brother at the hands of his father. The bruises and cuts and burns still hadn’t faded and Daryl doesn’t think they ever will.

Merle returned. Like always. It was nothing and Daryl didn’t even chew him out. Daryl greeted Merle , was met with a nod, and they started walking. Merle’s bike was out of gas. He still hadn’t abandoned it -- not that Daryl was surprised.

“Whatever it was,” Merle said after several miles. “It’s gone now.”

“Okay,” Daryl said. And that was that.

~/~

Merle was bitching about the travel. Everything “fuck” and “bitch” and “where the fuck do I get gas ‘round here?” as he lugged the bike alongside.

“I can push,” Daryl said.

“Nah,” Merle said. He sounded less pissed off when he spoke to Daryl.

Apart from those small moments, they walked in silence. Daryl didn’t mind. He could take in the sky, the grass, the warmth of the sun on his back. It was so quiet out here -- not like the city. Unsafe. Even without whatever... _that_ ...thing was. Merle still wasn’t talking about anything further than the _bodies_. Daryl didn’t ask.

The sun was starting to set by the time they saw anything.

Not more bodies. No way. And not some psycho, chainsaw-wielding killer, either. Instead they found a small cabin. Its walls were half peeling, its roof caved in, and there were no cars or sounds of life.

“You wanna check it out?” Merle asked. Daryl nodded.

Merle stopped swearing about his bike as they got closer. The grass was long, dead, and ripped into their jeans. Not that either pair were in good shape to begin with. Merle stopped his bike several feet from the building and drew his gun.

“Wait here,” he said. Daryl chose to listen. If being out here with nobody but his brother had taught him anything, it was that listening to Merle led to the best results. Daryl was a better soldier than leader.

“Be careful,” Daryl did say. It floated away with the breeze. Merle still shushed him.

Daryl’s heartbeat was fast and his own hands itched the grab the bow. He might not be great. He might not always hit the target but he thinks, if it came to it, he could protect Merle or at least help out.

Merle was on the rickety porch steps. _Crash_. Daryl jumped and his hand reached to the bow.

Merle was waving him down. Daryl froze. It was just a broken step. Rotted hollow and smashed in by Merle’s steel-cap boot. Daryl breathed. He shook his head. He thought Merle rolled his eyes. Daryl waited.

With the gun pointed solidly forward, Merle kicked in the front door. It collapsed effortlessly in a cloud of dust. Daryl still waited. His heart hurt.

It seemed like lifetimes passed before Merle stuck his head back out of the cabin.

“C’mon,” Merle said. “Our own private retreat.”

Daryl tried not to think too deeply into those words.

Inside, the cabin was just as dilapidated. What looked like a kitchen was situated on the far wall, everything else was bare or broken. Except the bed frame and ripped mattress situated by the door. Merle was looking at that. Daryl looked away.

“You can sleep there,” Merle said finally. He coughed. Dust flew up. “I’ll camp out. Better than the splintered fucking floor.”

“No--” Daryl said. Reaction. Reflex. “You have it.”

Merle shook his head and shoved his gun back into his waistband. “I’ll be right,” he said. “You still haven’t mastered that crossbow.”

Merle was right. Like always. Daryl placed the bow against the wall and sat on the bed. It creaked and bowed. Daryl wasn’t sure it was all that better than the grass outside.

“Sleep,” Merle said. “We’ll get moving when the sun comes up.”

With that, he left.

At some point, Daryl must have slept. His exhausted bones overriding his rushing heart. The outside sounds comfort him. Quietness only cut in with squirrels, birds, and the faraway call of a bobcat. _Home_. It was the safest Daryl knew.

~/~

“Hey.”

Daryl started. Reaching for a weapon he doesn’t have nearby. A hand touched his arm and Daryl fought.

“Hey!” The voice was familiar. “Hey, hey. Daryl. Lookit me.”

Merle. With his deep blue eyes that reflected like a warm lake back into Daryl’s own. Even in the darkness he could see this. Daryl relaxed instantly. At least for a moment. Then he sat bolt upright.

“Is everything okay?”

Merle gently pushed him back down. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Just wanted to make sure you were sleepin’.”

“I was,” Daryl said. His voice was grave, croaky. He cleared it as Merle reached out and brushes a piece of hair behind Daryl's ear. Daryl didn't even feel the need to flinch. “You...you can sleep here. With me."

Merle laughed. “Don’t quite think I’d fit.”

Daryl shuffled over until his back was flush against the wood. He could feel the splinters digging in but didn't move.

“You sure?” Merle asked.

Daryl nodded. He hoped Merle could see it in the dark.

He must have. He sat down on the bed that creaked and groaned under the weight of two people. Daryl didn’t mind. It meant Merle was here. Safe. Able to protect Daryl. From what? Daryl wasn’t so sure anymore.

“You been sleepin’ alright?” Merle asked. He was close enough for heat to radiate off his body onto Daryl’s. Daryl shivered. Merle moved closer.

“Yeah,” Daryl said. He wasn’t sure whether it was a lie. “You?”

“Surprisingly, the forest bed ain’t so comfortable.” Merle laughed. Daryl sucked in the feeling and hoped to ingrain it into his skin.

“I can go out there,” Daryl said. “I don’t mind.”

He’d slept in worse conditions when running from their father.

“Stay here,” Merle said. It was an order but it was gentle.

A few minutes must have passed where Daryl’s skin was humming and his heart beating so hard he thought Merle would bring it up. But he didn’t. He remained silent and still. His own heartbeat seemed a little fast -- enough for Daryl to notice and focus on. _Calming_ . _Grounding_. Daryl held.

“I’m sorry I left you, you know,” Merle said, his voice breaking through into the night. A bird screamed. Was it dawn already?

“I know,” Daryl said. He shuffled closer. He hoped Merle didn’t notice.

“I shouldn’t’a done it. I should’a protected you.”

“You were in juvie a lot,” Daryl said. Flimsy. His hurt broke through.

“You and I both know that ain’t an excuse.”

Daryl rolled over to face his brother. “What then?” His voice was so close to breaking but he held it together. _You’re an adult now. Not some little boy._ “You know how hard it is for me to deal with thinking you just left?”

Merle swallowed. Daryl could see his Adam’s apple working over. “He hurt me too,” Merle said finally. “I know that doesn’t help much but it’s true. I was weak. A coward. I ran.”

Daryl had never thought his brother a coward. Not ever and certainly not now. “You didn’t know how bad he hurt me--”

“I knew he hurt you. That should’a been enough.” Merle’s eyes were wide, wild. But not threatening. “Didn’t matter if it was a smack in the mouth or broken ribs.”

“Did he break yours?”

“Don’t think there’s a single one in its correct place.”

 _Oh_.

“It doesn’t matter, Daryl,” Merle said. “I should have been with you. Or taken you with me. Avoided prison. Helped you hide out.”

“It's okay” Daryl said. He didn’t want to hear anymore. It hurt his head, made him feel faint even though he was already lying down. “You’re here now. Just...just forget it.”

“I can’t,” Merle said. “D’you know why I let myself go to prison so much? It was a hell of a vacation to what _he_ did.”

 _Dad_. Merle couldn’t spit out the word. Truthfully, Daryl was sure he could anymore, either.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl said.

“Don’t be.” Merle dismissed him with a shake of his head. “I’m the big brother. I’m s’posed to care for you.”

“You do,” Daryl said. “Always have.”

“You going pansy on me, Darleena?”

It was meant to be a joke but it hit Daryl in the core. Was he gay? Why was he doing this? With his _brother_ , of all people. Why did he feel that warm heat radiating in his belly and down? Why did he want to be close to Merle? Close to enough to touch, to hold, to kiss--

“But you’re right.” Merle cut through Daryl’s thoughts and brought him back to the present. The little shack in the woods. “I’m here. And I’m not planning to go anywhere else. So you sleep. And trust in your big bro.”

In the moonlight, Merle smiled which, when not paired with irony or sarcasm, was the single rarest gem Daryl had ever laid eyes on.

Daryl slept.


	10. hold your heart in both hands

C H A P T E R  T E N

In the morning light, more of the cabin became clear. The cracks, splinters, and missing panes that allowed air through and turned the cabin into a no-escape wind tunnel. Beside Daryl, Merle snored.

Daryl shifted.

The snoring stopped and Merle’s eyes flew open.

In the space of half a millisecond, those eyes went from alert to soft. “Hey,” Merle said. His voice sleep-thick and it sent a ripple up Daryl’s spine. He pushed it down and away.

“Hey.”

“You sleep okay?”

Daryl shrugged. “I guess.”

Truth was, he hadn’t slept so well in years.

Merle rubbed a hand through his hair and yawned. Loud enough to make a sound that shot through the silence of the morning. Daryl smiled. Another something that was foreign, new, and he liked it. It didn’t matter that they were in a broken shack in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. They were together. And, for the most part, they were safe.

Then, as quickly as Daryl could blink, Merle’s face turned to a frown as he looked over Daryl’s shoulder.

“What?” Daryl asked, glancing around.

Merle was on his feet.

“What?” Daryl repeated, following.

Across the room, Merle stopped and reached down. His hand re-emerged with what looked like a heavily busted-up radio. Wires spilled out one side and the antennas were bent in all directions. But the grin on Merle’s face told Daryl that not all was lost.

“It can tell us what happened,” Merle said. “Some alert they’ve kept on repeat. Here--”

Merle placed the radio on a rickety table and began twisting at the dials. Daryl was reminded of the old radio in Dad’s shed. Merle would connect the wires with duct tape and, as he got older, a soldering iron that didn’t look all that safe. They could listen to the ball game while Dad got drunk and cursed the world from inside the house.

Static filled the room.

“Come on, baby,” Merle murmured. He kept moving the dials, the broken antenna. Daryl was powerless to do much of anything but still went over and stood behind his brother.

“Can I--”

As soon as the words left his mouth, words on the radio began to form.

“Fucking _yes_!” Merle cried. He turned up the volume. The words were deafening.

_“Citizens have been killed in deadly attacks across the country. The people responsible have continued their campaign of random violence, moving across the countryside unfettered with military forces in disarray._

_“There have been troubling reports of cannibalism having broken out in camps across the county. And despite the string of victories by military personnel, there are disturbing reports of increasing brutality of their tactics--”_

The broadcast turned to static.

Merle slapped the radio.

“ _Fuck_ .” It wasn’t in an excited tone this time. “Fucking _fuck_!”

He raised his hand but Daryl reached out and yanked it back. Merle’s eyes were wild.

“What the fuck do you--”

“Don’t break it,” Daryl said. He could see the outcome. A further mess of wires and broken parts. They needed this radio. He could see that. “It could help us. Somewhere else. The towers might be done, or the trees…”

“Didn’t you hear a word?” Merle asked. Still wild. He was spitting as he spoke. “Cannibalism, Daryl, _murder_ . Something’s going on out there - and I’m thinking it’s those same _things_ we saw before.”

Daryl’s thoughts were a mirror.

“World’s probably dyin’. I don’t expect anymore broadcasts around here.”

Echoes. But still. They could try. The military were on this - Merle could help get them to the base. A dishonourable discharge didn’t mean much in the face of whatever was going on right now.

“Don’t break it,” Daryl repeated. With his eyes remaining on Merle, he slowly reached over and bundled the radio into his arms. “Please. Can we at least try.”

Merle ran a hand down his face. Sweat and dirt mingled in the aged lines that seemed even more prominent than they were even a few months ago. Merle was old. He was born old. And he was growing ancient by the second.

“All right,” he said finally. “We need to move. We’re on our own out here now. Once and for all. At least Dad prepared us for somethin’, huh?”

Daryl didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

~/~

_“A safe zone has been declared in Atlanta.”_

“Let’s go, baby brother.”

~/~

They had no food. Limited weaponry. Merle stopped to count his live bullets in the dirt. “One,” he had said slowly. He had a wicked twinkle in his eyes. Like somehow this was all a _game_. “Two--”

Then they had heard a moan. A growl. And one of those... _things_...walking out through the trees.

“Shit!”

Daryl shot. Hit. It fell.

“Good job, brother,” Merle had said as he walked over and yanked the arrow from the corpse. He kicked at it. “Fucking rotten.”

He wiped the arrow on his pants, handed it back to Daryl, and - almost seemingly like an afterthought - dropped a kiss to the top of Daryl’s head.

Daryl had no idea how to respond.

So he chose to keep walking.

They had no map, no true sense of direction, but they had a mind. One adept at knowing east and west and back and forth. Daryl didn’t remind Merle of the time he went missing, of the time he saw that Chupacabra as plain as day. It was real. Even if the Merle who guided him home was only a voice in his head.

If he could make it home on that, he could make it to Atlanta with the in-flesh Merle.

“Easier when I hitchiked,” Merle huffed out. Smoking wasn’t doing anything for his lung capacity. Pulling the bike along probably didn’t help, either. They’d ditched the radio - Merle finally getting its way when it turned to endless static again. “Or had fuel.”

“I can push.”

“Nah.” Merle shook his head. Like always. “I carried more in the military.”

The reason _why_ Merle had hitchhiked to Atlanta in the first place. The reason _why_ Merle knew where they were going. The reason _why_ Daryl was left and lost.

“Daryl,” Merle said. Daryl looked up. “I’m not about to be welcomed back with open arms, if that’s what’s worryin’ you.”

Daryl shook his head. “It’s not.”

“Fucker’s can’t keep cannibals off people - I don’t have much faith in ‘em.”

That made Daryl smile. It cracked his face. The world was turning to shit but Merle Dixon could still get a rise from his brother.

~/~

They were just outside the city when they saw them.

About twelve. Human. Or at least they looked it. No loose jaws or gaping wounds. Humans. With a clothesline, tent and, most importantly, vehicles.

Their makeshift camp was in a quarry. One Merle said he camped out in after the military kicked him out but before he was ready to face their father.

Daryl understood why the latter was so much more difficult to build up the courage for.

“There’s ways in,” Merle said. They didn’t have to whisper. The woods were high enough up for them to observe undetected. “They could have guards, but I don’t see any weapons…”

Daryl pointed down. At a guy with a trucker cap. “He’s got a gun. In his waistband. Look.”

Merle was squinting but said nothing. He obviously couldn’t see. This task was all on Daryl. _Shit_.

“Check the others,” Merle finally said with the slightest hint of a sigh in his voice. “We can circle them, but we gotta know what we’re up against.”

He was preaching to the choir. Daryl brought viewfinder of the crossbow up to his eye. He could see the guy with the gun. It looked like a Glock. A cop gun. They should have grabbed guns before coming out here. Just like Merle said. He was always right.

“See anything?”

Daryl pulled the crossbow down from his face. “Why don’t you--”

“Just look, Daryl,” Merle said. “I taught you how t’ use it. Put it into action.”

Daryl couldn’t help but think this was neither the time nor the place to be putting lesson plans into action, but he kept his trap shut. He brought the crossbow back up and looked.

“I don’t see any others,” Daryl said. “But they’ve got tents. They could have lookouts--”

“Indeed they could,” Merle said. That glimmer was back in his voice. The one that made Daryl think his brother didn’t give a shit if he lived or died. Life was a game for Merle. One adventure after another.

“We should go,” Daryl said. He brought the crossbow down again. “Keep moving to Atlanta. We’re almost there. It’s a safezone and--”

“And what, Daryl?” Merle demanded. Glimmer gone. All action. “We have no food. No weapons except for that crossbow you can hardly fuckin’ shoot. We’ll die before we hit the city.”

He was right. Completely and utterly correct. About everything from the lack of food to Daryl’s inability to shoot straight. But Daryl had been trying. Ever since Merle handed him the weapon and said shoot he’d been giving his all.

Of course it wasn’t enough.

“So what do you wanna do?” Daryl sounded defeated. He could even hear it in himself.

“Rob ‘em,” Merle said plainly.

“Are you stupid?” Daryl glared at his brother. “We can’t take them on. Not without our own guns.”

“No, dumbass, we act sweet. Get ‘em on our side. Then rob ‘em blind. Cars, weapons - all of it.” Merle was excited. Ready. This was Merle’s world. The world of surviving.

Daryl wasn’t sure if it was his anymore.

“What?” Merle asked. “Conscious got ya? Or do you have a deathwish?”

“Neither,” Daryl said. He swallowed. “You really think they’re gonna be trusting of strangers? After everything we’ve seen? We could be those cannibals.”

“They didn’t look human,” Merle’s voice was flat. He didn’t elaborate and Daryl didn’t push.

Truth was, he didn’t want to know all the details. Not about that.

“We go,” Merle said. Final. “Get some food, build our strength, and keep going. Start out new life in Atlanta as kings.”

Delusions. All of it. But Daryl kept quiet and found himself nodding. Merle was safety. He’d know what to do. Daryl shifted the crossbow in his hand; it was growing heavy.

“You ready?” Merle asked.

Daryl took one last glance down at the people. There were children. At least two. He nodded again.

“Alright then,” Merle said with a grin. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The radio broadcast Daryl and Merle listen to is adapted from the one Tyreese hears in S05E09.
> 
> Annnnd...that's it! For book one, at least. Books two and three are still to come!


End file.
